


If Prayer Were the Answer I'd Fall on My Knees

by IAmAVeronica



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bare: the Rock Opera crossover, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Catholic School, Chapter 14 Cliffhanger, Chris is Derek's Father, Cock Worship, Coming Out, Cora and Lydia Are Enemies, Depression, Discussion of Hate Crimes, Face-Sitting, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Heterosexual Sex, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Jeff Davis is a Priest, Love Confessions, Multi, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Praise Kink, Protective Derek, Rimming, Secret Relationship, Sex for the wrong reasons, Stiles Loves Superheroes, The Boys are in a Play, The Boys are in the Closet But at Least They're In There Together, Top Derek Hale, Vaginal Sex, Violence, attempted suicide, drug overdose, romeo and juliet - Freeform, terrible decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3286259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmAVeronica/pseuds/IAmAVeronica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shit, Der.” Stiles shivers. “You promise when we get to the room—”<br/>“I’m going to lock the door, undress you, and make up for every minute of the past six weeks.” Derek grins when Stiles’s pupils blow wide with lust. “And we’re in the <em>chapel</em>, so you know I’m not lying.”<br/>“Forgive us, Father,” Stiles mutters, and grabs Derek’s hand. “For we are about to sin <em>so</em> hard.”<br/>~~~~~~~~~<br/>For the past four years Derek and Stiles have been roommates at St. Cecilia’s Catholic Boarding School. For the past two years, they have been secret lovers. Now, as senior year dawns, one boy begins to seriously consider coming out, while the other feels pressured by church and family to deny his identity.<br/>There’s also some Romeo and Juliet, a lot of fluff, a heap of angst, and Jeff Davis as a priest, because... reasons.<br/>In short, it’s the <em>bare: the rock opera/Teen Wolf<em></em></em> mashup that just wouldn’t get out of my head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can You Know What You Meant to a Soul That Was Searching

**Author's Note:**

> First fan fiction ever, wassup.  
> I’m a huge fan of _bare ___and I thought it needed some Teen Wolf treatment. If, like most people, you’re not familiar with bare, the story gets a little heavy at times. I’ll be updating tags as I go, but sadly there will be a hearty dose of homophobia and the language that goes along with it.  
>  There will also be sex. We’ll play a fun game called “Guess How Much Sexual Experience the Author Has Based on the Way She Tries to Write Sex Scenes.”  
> This story will contain characters who use their Catholic faith as a source of love, peace and tolerance, and there will be characters who use their (warped) Catholic faith to promote bigotry and hatred. My intention is never to put down someone’s religion or offend in any way.  
> None of these characters, or any part of bare, belongs to me. I’m just a creatively frustrated law student who needed to write some smut and fluff and angst for her own good health :)  
> All song titles come from _bare ___lyrics  
>  Unbeta’d as well.  
> Enjoy reading!

Derek Hale is thirteen when he stops believing in God.  


Everyone says it was divine intervention that woke him the night of the fire— it must have been, since Derek is usually a sound sleeper, so much so that his six younger brothers and sisters made a game out of seeing what they could do without waking him. In the living room a framed picture proudly boasted one of their best efforts: Derek, mouth open obscenely, his littlest sister’s favorite teddy bear cuddled under his oblivious arm.  


The picture burns along with everything else. Everything but Derek, who had gone downstairs for a drink of water and so is closest to the door when the smoke alarm suddenly began to blare, and Cora, the only one Derek is able to save when he breaks free from the police and runs back inside the flaming husk of his home. She is so badly burned that in the darkness he can’t tell if it is eleven-year-old Cora or ten-year-old Mia. He won’t know until later, when he finally remembers to ask the doctors what scrap of family he salvaged.  


After he pulls her to safety they don’t let him go back inside. A policeman holds him back while others take care of his sister, and something breaks inside Derek as the house smolders before him. “Mommy!” he wails into the night, his voice drifting up with the smoke disappearing into the air. “Mom, please! Please, God, help them! _Please!” ___  


God doesn’t answer, and his mother never comes, and Derek knows that they both are gone.  
#  


The house burns in June and the surviving Hale siblings spend the rest of the summer in the hospital together. Cora needs surgery after surgery, and even when the doctors are done the left side of her face is still a cracked and twisted red carbon-copy of what she suffered that night. Derek— treated two days for smoke inhalation but allowed to stay in the hospital on humanitarian grounds— becomes her guard dog, ready to snap at anyone who even does a double-take at the sight of her face.  


In September it is finally decided what is to be done with them. Derek’s biological father Chris Argent offers to take them in, even though he had left Talia when she was still pregnant with Derek and the two only know each other from strained visits twice a year. Chris had remarried and has a daughter, Allison, who technically shares as much blood with Derek as Cora but will always feel like a stranger.  


It isn’t until Cora has been released from the hospital in early October that Chris tells them exactly what their new life entails. Every year since second grade Allison has attended a Catholic boarding school, and now they, too, have been enrolled. “St. Cecilia’s,” Chris tells them proudly, as if the name should mean something. “You’ll love it. It’s very highly ranked…”  


“I’m an atheist,” Cora says.  


Chris stares at her the way he always does, as if she is a curious animal Derek had insisted on bringing with him when he moved in. “You’re _eleven.” ___  


“Derek looked up the word for me. He’s one, too.” Cora folds her arms and scowls, her scar puckering around her mouth. “Send us to an atheist boarding school instead.”  


Chris turns his glare on Derek and Derek looks down, ashamed. There is something wrong with Derek. He doesn’t know what it is, but his father clearly does, since he never visited and only treats Derek like a duty he was forced to undertake as a good Catholic. Now, every day, all Derek can think of is what must be lacking— in his life, his soul, his heart. “Not really,” he mumbles.  


Chris shakes his head. “It seems to me like Catholic boarding school is exactly what you two need. Allison loves it, you will too. I don’t want to hear any fuss about it, understand? Victoria will take you shopping,” and on cue his wife pops her head into the room and waves. “You’ll move in next week. And kids? You may not have my name, but you’re part of my family now. There’s a responsibility that comes with that.” He looks at them sternly. “I don’t expect to ever be embarrassed by anything you do. I’d hate to be disappointed in that way. Understand?”  


“Understand,” they both say.  


“Good.”  
#  


“It’s a _castle,” ___Cora says in amazement when they drive up to St. Cecilia’s. “I take it all back. I’m a Catholic again. Atheists don’t have buildings as cool as _this.” ___  


“Cora, we’ve talked about this,” Chris says from the front seat. “I don’t want to hear that word again.”  


Derek just stares up at the building, dread thick in his chest. He doesn’t want to go to school here. He doesn’t want to room with some strange boy— Chris tried to pay so he could room with Cora, but the administration was insistent that rooms not be co-ed. He doesn’t want to learn about math and science from old nuns. He really doesn’t want to have to sit through church services praising a God that at worst gladly took his family away and at best just doesn’t exist at all.  


But Chris insisted. Derek knows better now than to push away the only bit of family he has left.  


A priest meets them at the front of the school. He’s younger than Derek would ever have expected, with big ears, a wide forehead, and a wider smiler. “Hey there,” he says cheerfully, reaching out to shake Derek’s hand. “I’m Father Jeff. Come follow me and we’ll get you settled.”  


It is a month into the school year, but Father Jeff explains that they were able to find roommates without a problem. Cora’s roommate, Lydia, had a single— “Her parents are generous donors,” Father Jeff explains with a pained little chuckle— but she’s apparently graciously agreed to share. As for Derek…  


“Here’s your roommate, Derek,” Father Jeff says, coming to a stop in front of Room 244.  


The boy on the bed looks up. “Hi,” he says.  


“Stiles here used to room with Scott McCall, but we can’t trust the two of them together anymore.” Father Jeff cocks an eyebrow at the boy. “Sister Harriet nearly broke her hip thanks to their last little _joke.” ___  


“I’m a miscreant,” the boy tells Derek seriously. “Hopefully you’ll be a stabilizing influence on me.”  


“Can it, Stiles,” Father Jeff says. “This is Derek, and…well, we actually _do ___hope he’ll be a stabilizing influence on you.”  


“We can only pray, sir,” Stiles says gravely. Derek jerks a little, waiting for the priest to pull out a ruler and smack the kid or something, but Father Jeff just laughs and swats at Stiles’s head. “Get yourself settled,” he tells Derek, already backing out of the room with Chris and Cora. “I’m going to get your sister introduced to her roommate, and then we’ll come back and check on you.”  


Derek looks at Cora, panicked. She can’t meet her roommate without him. What if the girl stares, or points, or laughs? “I can come with you,” he says.  


“Derek.” Chris sighs and looks at Derek’s new roommate. “Derek is something of a guard dog,” he says, flicking his eyes towards the heavens. “We’re trying to break him of the habit.”  


Derek flushes, but the boy only grins. “I like dogs, sir.”  


“I’ll be okay, Der,” Cora says. She’s already fiddling with the wisps of hair she still has, trying to see if she can arrange them in a way that hides her scar. Derek pulls her into a hug that Chris breaks all too soon. “Get unpacked,” he says brusquely. “We’ll be back.”  


The door swings shut and Derek is left alone with his suitcase and the boy, who goes back to reading a comic book on the bed. “You have the entire dresser on your side and half the closet,” Stiles tells him. “You can put stuff on the walls up with putty, but no tape. Did you bring putty?”  


“Um. No.”  


“I have some in my desk drawer if you need it.” Stiles flips a page.  


“Your name is _Stiles?” ___Derek blurts.  


“Yeah.” Stiles looks back up at him. “It’s actually Genim Stilinski, but when I was a really little kid I liked to dress up in my mom’s old hats and dresses and parade around. She started calling me Stylin’ McGee, and then Stylin’ Stilinski, and somehow that got shortened to Stiles. Probably because my dad didn’t want her calling me Stylin’ in public. It would make people talk, or whatever. Also, Genim is a terrible name, and people would just shorten it to Gen, and that’s even worse for a boy than a nickname based on wearing dresses and Sunday hats. Your name is Derek, right? Do you have a nickname or is it just Derek?”  


Derek stares at him for a minute. Chris’s house was always so quiet and serious, and for a minute Derek had felt like he was back home, with one of the kids yammering in his ear about something. “It’s just Derek,” he says finally.  


“Okay.” Stiles goes back to his comic book. “I’ll probably call you Der.”  


“Then I’ll call you Gen.”  


“Ooh, shots fired!” Stiles grins and chucks a balled-up shirt at Derek. Derek lets it hit the floor. “You know, people usually smile when they make jokes, dude. Why so serious?”  


Derek hesitates. He doesn’t like to talk about his feelings, but screw it. “I don’t want to be here.” He turns and unzips his suitcase, suddenly feeling like he might cry and knowing he cannot cry in front of his roommate. “I don’t even believe in any of this, okay?”  


He doesn’t know what he expects— maybe for Stiles to gasp in horror and clutch a crucifix or something— but it’s definitely not what happens. Stiles laughs and crouches down next to Derek, reaching out to help him unpack. “Dude. Who does? Nobody here is aiming for the seminary, or whatever.” He drops his voice. “My best friend Scott has Playboys in his room. Most people have to pay a quarter to get to look, but I might be able to cut you a deal.”  


“Wait,” Derek says. “Really?”  


“Yeah, man. He steals them from his uncle.”  


“No, I mean…people aren’t really serious about the Catholic thing here? _Really?” ___  


“Some are.” Stiles grabs some of Derek’s socks and shirts and shove them into the dresser drawer with a randomness that would have made Derek’s mother weep. “Jackson can get a little preachy…you’ll meet him later…but most people are cool, no matter what they believe. It’s middle school. If people are dicks, they’re dicks by nature, not nurture. Although I’d like to see a super-religious bully. That would be a great comic book villain.” He stands up. “Okay, that exhausted my helpfulness for the night, dude. You’re on your own.”  


“What about you?” Derek asks. The minute it’s out of his mouth he blushes. Maybe it’s the kind of thing you aren’t supposed to ask here.  


Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know for sure. I believe in _something, ___but…I guess I mostly just want to be a good person, and focus on helping others, and be happy even if I don’t have, like, something specific to be happy about.” Now he blushes, and it makes him look sort of adorable. “And I guess you can call that Catholicism. I’m not crazy about labels.”  


It’s the most mature thing Derek has ever heard a thirteen-year-old say. “That’s cool,” he tells Stiles, and means it. He puts away more clothes, wanting to use Stiles’s method but afraid of disappointing Chris with his lack of organization. He takes a picture of his family before the fire out of his bookbag and, after getting some of Stiles’s putty, tacks it up over his bed. It had been donated to him by a family friend, along with a few other random snapshots. In it his mom, still pregnant with Holly, is holding Nick and Tyler, the twins, while Mia is hanging off of Derek and Cora is just opening her mouth to shriek in anger at Aaron for poking her. Derek’s stepdad Jesse must have taken it. Nobody found a single picture of Jesse to donate, and Derek is beginning to forget what he looked like.  


“We need to get you some posters, man,” Stiles says, breaking Derek off from his thoughts. “These white cinderblock walls will make you go insane. You a Marvel guy?”  


“I like Captain America.”  


“Thank God.” Stiles tumbles off the bed so artlessly Derek thinks he might break his neck. “I get it,” he says, staring at Derek. “Your dad was wrong. You’re not a guard dog. You’re a straight-up superhero, dude.”  


“I am not.”  


Stiles pokes his chest. “Damn, you’ve got abs. You look like you should be wearing a cape and tights and saving people from—” Stiles’s face changes ever-so-slightly, and Derek finishes the sentence in his head: _burning buildings. ___  


“From…disasters,” Stiles finishes lamely, already beet-red. So Stiles knows about him. Father Jeff must have warned him in advance, so he wouldn't accidentally say something triggering.  


And hadn’t that worked out beautifully.  


Derek can’t stand being pitied, so he rolls his eyes and says, “You’re just saying that because my parents are dead and it makes a good origin story.”  


Stiles looks a little startled, but he rolls with it. “Origins can only take you so far. We’ll need to find you a nemesis. And I’m not kidding about the tights. You’ll be begging for them once you try on the uniform.”  


“I’m not a superhero.”  


“Don’t argue with me. I like it. I’m kind of puny, if you haven’t noticed, so I need someone to protect me.” Stiles grins. “I’ll be your introduction into the only group of people here worth knowing, and in return you just promise to punch out anyone who tries to stuff me into a locker.”  


Derek blinks. “We have _lockers?” ___he asks, and then quickly shakes it off. “I mean…yeah, of course. I wouldn't let anybody hurt you. Do people do that a lot?”  


Stiles looks Derek up and down, and it makes Derek feel a little weird. He can’t put his finger on what it is, and he doesn't really want to try. “Something tells me they won’t anymore.”  
#  


For the first few weeks it really isn’t so bad. He meets Stiles’s friends— Scott and Boyd and Isaac and Jackson and Danny and Erica and Lydia, Cora’s roommate, who may be a year younger but carries herself with the sass of a seventeen-year old. They travel together like a pack, and everyone accepts Derek in without question. With Derek comes Cora, and nobody even looks askance at her scar. It’s fine. It might even be _good. ___  


Sure, having a religion class is strange, and he’s expected to go to Mass in the mornings. Most people skip but Derek doesn’t want anyone reporting to Chris that he wasn’t there. Still, the nuns are nicer than he expected— some are even pretty young— and Father Jeff is cool. It really is fine.  


And then on October 31st Derek turns fourteen.  


Before he missed his family with a sort of distant longing, but when he wakes up on his birthday he feels it like fire in his chest. His mom should be waking him up with a candle in a muffin right now, everyone crowded around getting ready to sing. Holly would want to blow the candle out herself and Mia would ask why Talia had made blueberry and not chocolate chip when chocolate chip was _so much better. ___Birthdays brought a special kind of chaos in the Hale household, and for a minute Derek can’t breathe, thinking of how much he misses it.  


The pain stays with him the rest of the day. He snaps at Cora when she tries to get the table to sing "Happy Birthday" to him, and he shrugs off Scott’s offer to play basketball after school. When class ends he finds his way to the chapel, where he sits in the back row, staring at the stained-glass windows.  


It hurts. It hurts so much that when tears finally prick his eyes he thinks that they must be caused by the physical pain in his chest. He wants his mom. Not for the first time, he wonders where it all goes when someone dies. Where do the hopes, and dreams, and memories, and love _go? ___Is there some cosmic furnace somewhere in the universe, burning it all away to ash?  


The door behind him creaks open and someone sits down next to him. “Hey,” Stiles says softly. “Thought I’d find you here.”  


Derek wipes his nose, furious with himself. “Why? You know I don’t care about any of this _bullshit.” ___It comes out almost savage, more of a growl than words.  


“Because this is where I used to come.” Stiles hesitates. “After my mom died. I spent hours right in this pew.”  


Derek whips his head around. “Your mom died?”  


“Two years ago.” Stiles swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Cancer.”  


“I didn’t know.” How didn’t he know?  


“I don’t advertise.” Stiles kicks his foot against the kneeler. “I think that’s why they wanted to room us together. So we wouldn’t have mom-envy of the other kids.”  


“We’re a real fucked-up club,” Derek says, enjoying the sheer blasphemy of the word in this space.  


“I stopped believing in God for a while, too,” Stiles says.  


“Yeah?”  


“Yeah. But, like, I wanted to believe that my mom still existed or whatever. So I did my research into all kinds of religions. And finally I just sort of gave up and stuck with this one.” Stiles sighs. “I was pretty messed up for a while, though. I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again. And then I started thinking about math.”  


It surprises Derek so much that he barks out a laugh. “Math?”  


“Yeah.” Stiles gives him a sideways grin. “Like, okay. So I thought about how much I loved my mom, and my dad, and my friends, and other things about the world that I loved. Root beer, for example. Spiderman. Let’s say the sum total of my love for stuff was one thousand, okay?”  


“I think I’ve already been left behind on this one, but sure.”  


“Okay. So after my mom died, I was treating the world like all my love for stuff was gone. Like, I was suddenly _negative ___love, because of how much hate I had for the world over my mom dying. But I still loved my mom, even though she was gone. I still loved my dad, and Scott, and root beer. I didn’t have one thousand units of hate to negate all of the love. I figure, as long as I have a net profit of love at the end of the day, I still have something to go on.”  


Derek has to take a moment to untangle the words he wants. “That’s…”  


“Really stupid, I know.” Stiles blushes and hunches up his shoulders, like he expects Derek to smack him. “Sorry.”  


“I was going to say it’s kind of nice.” Derek shrugs and watches Stiles unfurl cautiously, like a flower. When I was in the hospital after… well, during those weeks, the only thing that made me feel okay was thinking about Cora. How she still, you know, needed me, and at least I still had her, and that was a reason for getting up each morning. So I get it. And…” he trails off. He wants to say that he likes that Stiles isn’t afraid to use the word love. He wants to say that ever since Stiles has been with him the pain in his chest has slowly been fading away. But instead he clears his throat and said, “I do love root beer.”  


Stiles laughs and shifts closer to him. “You’ll be okay,” he promises. “Trust me. You’ll find something to remind you how much love you still have in there, and then I bet everything Father Jeff says won’t sound so stupid anymore. Or maybe it will. What even is this Rape of Sabine stuff we were just learning about in Religion?”  


“I have no idea.”  


“I might as well just start sleeping through that class.”  


“Stiles?” Derek makes eye contact with his roommate, something he usually tries desperately to avoid. It sends a little jolt of electricity through him, and he doesn’t want to think about what that means. “Thanks.”  


“No problem. I can’t have you moping around the room, after all. It’s really going to ruin my plan to make our place Party Central.”  


“The store?”  


“No, jackass. The spot to hang. Scott’s room smells like feet now that he’s rooming with Jackson.”  


“Our room smells like feet too.”  


“Our room smells like _testicles. ___It’s manly.”  


“That’s disgusting.”  


“You smiled, Sour-Man.”  


Derek can’t stop from laughing again. His mom used to call him Sourpants when he was in a mood, and it should hurt, hearing the word from Stiles, but it doesn’t. And Derek doesn’t want to think about what _that ___means, either. “Don’t call me that.”  


“I can’t help it,” Stiles says. “You’re a superhero, but kind of a grumpy one. Like instead of a spider, you got bit by a radioactive goth kid and now you have the power of resting bitch-face.”  


“You’re really bringing down my net love right now.”  


“Don’t even pretend. I rock your world.”  


Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand. He looks right at Derek and smiles.  


And Derek Hale is fourteen when he starts believing in God again.


	2. Why We Whisper, In Hallways, "I'll Be With You Always"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A skip-ahead to senior year, a look inside Stiles's mind at the end, and some sexy-time right in the middle. (Plus a shower jerkoff session at the very end)

**Senior Year**

Derek’s favorite place at St. Cecelia’s School is the confession booth. Father Jeff is only there from four to six on weeknights, and during those hours in between Derek sits in the silence. 

It’s just good to get away. Without meaning to, Derek somehow became popular the first year of high school, and now he feels like he can’t escape from his own image. Everyone wants to talk to Derek Hale, alpha male, star of every sports team and current leader of class rank. It’s exhausting. Derek only really needs Stiles and Cora. Maybe an occasional conversation with Scott. Boyd and Erica can alternate in. 

Sometimes it’s just really nice to be by himself. 

On the first move-in day back from summer vacation senior year he sits there for hours. He knows Stiles is probably moving himself back in, tacking up his posters over the bed and stuffing his ties pell-mell into the dresser. Derek had moved himself in within two hours early that morning— Chris always dropped the kids off before the crack of dawn the first day they were allowed back. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, yet another message from Stiles. Derek has been avoiding him all day, since he knows the Sherriff will be with him for at least a few hours. After Derek and Stiles had spent the first few weeks of the summer together at Chris’s Martha’s Vineyard vacation home they had finally needed to separate, and it has been six weeks since he has seen Stiles. Just thinking about touching him again made Derek pop an erection, and he can’t let the Sherriff see _that_. 

They’ve been together for almost two years. It’s the best-kept secret at St. Cecilia’s. Cora doesn’t know. Scott has no idea. They survive by keeping it hidden, because you cannot be gay at Catholic school. Especially not if your father is an old-school Sherriff like Stiles’s dad or the current Republican candidate for mayor like Chris. 

Derek may be a Catholic, but it’s not the Heavenly Father he fears. It’s his own. Chris Argent cannot have a gay son. 

So Derek is not gay. 

At least, he won’t be in public. 

In the privacy of his room, things are different. They have agreed not to feel guilty about what they do but to make a sort of unsettled peace about it, the way everyone does with their little everyday sins. God is like their third roommate: they can talk freely about and to Him; His rules sometimes make them chafe; they essentially sexile Him every other night, as if He is waiting huffily on the other side of the door to be let back in once they finish. 

Derek is religious enough to know what the church’s stance on homosexuality is. It is forbidden. The Heavenly Father cannot have a gay son. 

So Derek is not gay, 

At least, he won’t be forever. 

He reads through Stiles’s messages again. 

_Stiles: 3:22: Me & Dad are stopping at Dunkin Donuts do u want anything? _

_Stiles: 3:33: Last call for DD._

 _

Stiles: 3:59: Here where r u 

Stiles: 4:18: I noticed you took the bed by the heater so that’s officially our bed for the rest of the year just FYI 

Stiles: 4:19: Which is too bad because I brought my spiderman sheets and I know how much you like those haha 

Stiles: 5:00: Me and Dad are going to get dinner you want to come? 

Stiles: 6:57: Dad wants to say bye to u COME HERE PLEEEEASE. 

Stiles: 7:19: K dad’s gone. Lube is unpacked neighbors aren’t here yet okay I think you know what I’m getting at.

_

Derek grins and texts back: 

_Derek: 7:22: Do I just come when you call now? Is that how this works?_

 _Stiles: 7:22: You come when I do a lot of things so probably yeah_

 _

Derek: 7:23: That was really terrible and just for that I’m staying hidden. 

Stiles: 7:23: Fine. I’m going on a pilgrimage to find you and when I do I’m going to drag you back to our room and enjoy my prize ;) 

Derek: 7:24: Like you could drag me anywhere 

Stiles: 7:24:  I did weight training this summer 

Derek: 7:25: In the past six weeks? 

Stiles: 7:25: Yeah I look amazing you’re going to lose your mind when you see me. Also im wearing that striped shirt we bought on the pier so even though you can’t see me right now trust me im really doing it for you 

Derek: 7:26: That striped shirt is an abomination and I can’t wait to take it off you. Also can’t wait to feel each of your new muscles. Maybe we can practice squats tonight…I can see if you’re holding too much tension in your thighs… 

Stiles: 7:27: You’re going to make me need to go jerk off in the bathroom sourman don’t interrupt me in my quest. 

Stiles: 7:29 FOUND YOU.

_

There’s a rap on the door and before he can do anything it flies open. Stiles leans against the side of the confession booth, smirking. “Literally the first place I looked, dude. You are so predictable.” 

“Maybe I wanted you to find me.” 

“Did you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I missed you,” Stiles whispers, and leans in for a kiss. He tastes the same as always and for a minute Derek just lets himself feel ridiculously _happy_ , until he looks past Stiles and sees the double-doors, shut but not unlocked, a thin stream of light slipping through the crack. 

“Not here,” Derek whispers, and Stiles shakes his head, deepening the kiss. Derek breaks away. “Not in the chapel, baby— back to our room, okay?” 

Stiles grumbles against Derek’s lips but leans back, pouting a little. “Nobody will come in on moving day, Der.” 

“I did.” 

“You’re a freak.” 

“I want to fuck you, Stiles,” Derek mumbles into the spot behind Stiles’ ear. “Okay? I can’t do that here.” 

“Shit, Der.” Stiles shivers. “You promise when we get to the room—” 

“I’m going to lock the door, undress you, and make up for every minute of the past six weeks.” Derek grins when Stiles’s pupils blow wide with lust. “And we’re in a _chapel_ , so you know I’m not lying.” 

“Forgive us, Father,” Stiles mutters, and grabs Derek’s hand. “For we are about to sin _so hard.”_

# 

At first Derek had thought it was his secret alone. He couldn’t stop from peeking when Stiles undressed; he would jerk off at night with Stiles’s name clamped between his teeth. He would berate himself at the end of every fantasy, telling himself that he was wrong, disgusting. He imagined Stiles realizing and backing away from him in horror. Walking out of his life forever. 

It was a day in September, sophomore year, when everything changed. Derek had been looking everywhere for one of his favorite t-shirts, one that he liked to sleep in. He had practically torn the room apart when suddenly he moved Stiles’s pillow and found the shirt, right beneath where Stiles usually laid his head. Derek picked it up and was still standing there, frozen, when the door opened and Stiles walked through. 

He stopped when he saw Derek holding the shirt. “Oh,” he said softly, as if he had been waiting for this moment but just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. 

“Why do you have this?” Derek asked. His heart was pounding. He tried not to think of the way Stiles smiled at him, the way Stiles seemed to bump against him more than was ever really necessary. Surely there was some reasonable explanation for this. Yes, there _had_ to be. Derek raised his chin and waited for it, knowing that whatever Stiles said would just be a formality. Derek would nod, and take the shirt back, and they would never mention it again. 

And then Stiles did the bravest thing Derek had ever witnessed. He closed a door and took a step closer to Derek. “It smells like you,” he said. 

“What?” 

“It smells like you, Der. I like to hold it when I fall asleep because at night I can hear you breathing from across the room and all I want to do is crawl into bed with you and ask you to hold _me_. But I can’t, so I pull out your shirt and hold it instead.” Stiles stared at him. He was trembling, arms locked around his body as if he had to hold himself together. “Do you get it?” 

Derek felt blood rushing to his cock at the thought of Stiles crawling into bed with him. But surely this was some sort of joke. He couldn’t pretend it was real. He certainly couldn’t let Stiles know that he had longed to steal one of _Stiles’s_ t-shirts the year before, so he could cuddle with it over the summer. “Stiles,” he said shakily. “I think you’re confused.” 

Stiles nodded. His eyes were like windows being shuttered closed as he forced a smile. “Okay, man. I’m sorry. Forget what I said.” He stepped away, and Derek couldn’t breathe. He suddenly remembered when the police had held him back to keep him from running back into his house to save his family, and for a minute he could almost feel it again— he heat on his face, the struggle deep within his belly. The desire to run _towards._

Was Stiles the burning house, or the person trapped inside? Derek didn’t know, but without thinking of the consequences for once in his life he set himself free. “What if I can’t?” 

Stiles looked back, suddenly panicked. “Please don’t _tell_ anyone.” 

“No,” Derek said. “I mean, what if I can’t forget at night? When I don’t have anything of _yours_ to hold?” 

Stiles took a tiny step forward. It was a dance they would soon learn all too well: back, forward; forward, back. “You could hold me,” he said. 

Derek kissed him, finally, so deeply that they fell together onto Derek’s bed. “No,” he said into that soft, sweet shell of Stiles’s ear. “I’ll do more than that.” 

# 

They have to lock the door, turn off the lights, and stuff a towel in the crack so the sound won’t escape through, but they’re used to the precautions. Stiles likes to be undressed by Derek and Derek is always too willing to oblige. He pulls off the striped shirt and throws it into the trashcan, it’s so ugly. Stiles won’t notice. His eyes are already closed with bliss as Derek pulls him to the bed. 

“Let’s christen this bitch,” Stiles grins, wriggling on his stomach into the mattress. 

Derek kicks off his own jeans and strokes himself through his boxers until his erection is straining through. Stiles waits, mouth open, enjoying the show. 

“Hurry,” Stiles whines finally, and Derek quits his ministrations. He climbs on top of Stiles slowly, teasing the both of them. 

“God, Der…” 

“Shh, baby.” Derek takes off Stiles’ briefs and throws them in a tangled figure-eight onto the floor. “I missed you so much. Did you miss me?” 

“Yeah, yeah…please, Der, I need…” 

“I know what you need.” Derek grabs the lube. Stiles loves it when Derek talks dirty, loves to be praised throughout, and if the neighbors aren’t even here yet Derek figures it’s all right to make Stiles feel good. “You’re so perfect,” Derek whispers as he begins to stretch Stiles open. “I’ve been hard all day thinking about you. Feel this?” He puts Stiles hand over his erection, rubs it over his boxers. They’re already damp and Stiles groans again. “That’s what you do to me.” 

“Please Der, more…faster…” 

“You know I like when you beg.” Derek kisses his neck. “But you have to be quiet like a good boy or I can’t take my time. I want to make you feel good, okay?” 

Stiles whimpers. “Tell me how ripped I am now,” he manages. 

Derek laughs as he adds another finger and crooks, making Stiles arch. “I don’t tell lies.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“I’m a little busy fucking _you._ ” 

“So do it already.” Stiles lifts his hips impatiently. 

Derek angles himself over Stiles’s well-worked hole. “God, I missed you,” he whispers before he covers Stiles’s mouth with his hand and thrusts. 

Stiles moans and Derek keeps his hand over his mouth as he moves against Stiles’s body. He can feel Stiles’s dick leaking against his stomach, and he contorts himself enough to flick his tongue over the head. Stiles buckles. “Again,” he moans. 

“I’ll break my back.” 

“Don’t care.” 

“I won’t be able to stay inside you.” 

“Fuck, fine.” Stiles nearly bites Derek’s hand when Derek thrusts deeper. Six weeks has been an eternity and it’s not long before he comes, biting the collar of his shirt so he won’t be too loud. “I want to watch you,” he says to Stiles after he falls back on the bed, and Stiles grabs his own dick, palming it for a few beautiful minutes before grabbing tissues from the box on the bedstand so he won’t make a mess. 

Afterwards they spoon in Derek’s bed together. Derek kisses him lazily on the neck while Stiles nuzzles up against him, sleepily content. “Do you want dinner?” Derek mumbles. 

“God, no.” 

“Scott’s going to be looking for you.” 

“Scotty’s currently trying to convince Allison that if you read the Bible a certain way it says giving your boyfriend head is a FastPass to Heaven.” 

“Stiles, come on. That’s my sister.” 

“ _Cora’s_ your sister. Allison is like a distant cousin you have to spend summers with.” 

“Well, Cora’s probably looking for us too.” 

Stiles laughs. “You think the Annual Cora-Lydia First Week Smackdown already happened?” 

“Probably.” Derek winces at the thought. Lydia Martin is the most beautiful girl at St. Cecilia’s and Cora despises her more than Derek ever thought it was possible to despise someone. They’ve been forced to room together every year, because apparently _someone_ in the housing department is trying to help Derek— who is always forced to play peacemaker— achieve sainthood. 

“I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” Stiles yawns so hugely Derek hears his jaw crack. “Are you going to Mass in the morning?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Don’t wake me up.” 

“You’re not coming?” 

“Stop setting me up with these coming jokes, Der, jeez. Do you want me to go to my own bed?” 

“Nah.” Derek wraps his arms around Stiles a little tighter. “Just don’t snore.” 

“You love it.” 

“I do,” Derek says, and it comes out sadder than he anticipates. 

“I know,” Stiles mumbles. “I’m falling asleep. Say my prayers for me tonight, okay?” 

“Sure.” Derek starts sucking a love bite on Stiles’s neck. He knows just when to stop so the mark will fade by morning. “Sleep tight. Dream of unicorns and superheroes.” 

“Don’t need to.” Stiles gives him a sleepy, shit-eating grin. “I have my superhero right here.” 

Derek smiles. He knew Stiles would say that. “Then dream of me,” he whispers once he’s already pretty sure Stiles is asleep. The mask can only drop so much, even around Stiles. And really, there are some things that need to be said more than they need to be heard. 

He falls asleep in the middle of his prayers and dreams of fire 

# 

When Stiles wakes up in the morning, Derek is already gone. “Fucking altar boy,” he mutters as he sits up, stretching out and shivering in delight at the way his body aches. Derek is probably the only person who actually went to Mass on the first day back. 

_He must be feeling guilty about something_ , a poisonous voice whispers in his mind. Stiles tries to ignore it. He can’t let himself start feeling this way the first day back with Derek. And yet… 

Stiles knows that time is running out. 

It wasn’t until he was apart from Derek for half the summer that Stiles had his epiphany. Derek is not a phase for Stiles; he is not some rebellion or dangerous exploration. Stiles cannot separate the part of himself that thinks about Derek naked 90% of every waking day from the part of himself that talks to God at night, or the part of himself that loves superheroes and his dad. He's never liked labels, but he knows which ones the church would slap on him: 

_Homosexual._

_Sinner_

_Damned._

Stiles is not an expert on religion. He’s been told enough times by the nuns and even Father Jeff that the church’s doctrine comes from far greater minds than his, and he is meant to believe, not question. Heaven is achieved through discipline, not exploration. If the Bible says that something is wrong, he is meant to accept and then avoid it. 

But Stiles believes that any God worth worshipping would never condemn two people for falling in love. He is old enough to tell right from wrong, after all, and being with Derek is right. Stiles loves God and Derek both. God loves Stiles and Derek both. There is no need to make it any more complicated than that. Really, Stiles thinks that religion wouldn’t seem so poisonous if all these fucking _people_ just stopped getting in the way. 

Stiles is ready to come out. But Derek isn’t, and that leaves Stiles trapped. 

Stiles knows that Derek needs him right now. Derek is a protector at heart, and Cora is too old to run to her big brother whenever she needs to cry it out. Instead Derek protects Stiles now, cuddles him close at night and glares down the bullies in the halls who, honestly, stopped picking on Stiles years ago. When Derek is down, Stiles is the only one who can make him laugh. Derek is still a little broken from the loss of his family and Stiles is what keeps him together. 

Someday Derek will stop needing him. 

Stiles knows that. 

Derek thinks that when that day comes he will simply be able to stop loving Stiles. 

Stiles is afraid that, maybe, that will be true. 

There’s a knock sounding out “Shave and a Haircut” on the door, their code. “Come in,” Stiles calls, and Derek steps through. 

“Did you _just_ wake up?” 

“Yeah, well. I had an exhausting night.” 

“You and half the congregation. I was the only one who stayed awake through the Homily.” 

“Such a good Catholic. So are we damned?” 

Derek snorts. “Isn’t _that_ the million dollar question.” 

“I say no,” Stiles says cheerfully, hopping out of bed. “You didn’t go to the bookstore yet, did you?” 

“Nope.” 

“Okay. Wanna go down together and then get lunch with the crew? I just need to shower.” 

“Um.” Derek checks his watch, Stiles’s birthday present from last year. “I have a meeting with my advisor in twenty.” 

“What? Why? You already know you’re going to be valedictorian.” 

“Or not,” Derek says. “Seeing as I was busy fucking you this summer while Jackson was probably paying tutors from Yale or something.” 

“Who cares?” Stiles can’t resist reaching out to fiddle with Derek’s tie. “You’re going to get in early admission to Notre Dame and you know it.” 

Derek gives a reluctant smile. “And you’re going to get in regular admission.” 

“Exactly. And then it’s Roommate Domination Part Two: College Life.” 

“Yeah,” Derek says softly. “It’ll be great.” 

Stiles presses two of his fingers to his own lips, and then holds them to Derek’s lips. “I don’t want to kiss you with morning breath. Okay, go meet with your advisor and then come find me in the caf if you have time. I need to find my shower shoes.” 

“Under your bed.” 

“Thanks.” Stiles pulls them out. “Check it. I found Iron Man flip-flops at the mall.” 

“Stiles, those are clearly for a ten-year-old.” 

“I know, it’s adorable. _Wait_!” Stiles spins around, pointing at Derek. “I totally almost forgot. Do you know what tonight is?” 

“Yeah, The Bachelor is premiering, and I still refuse to watch it.” 

“No, not that. Auditions, man. 3:30. _Romeo and Juliet.”_

“No,” Derek says flatly. 

“You haven’t heard my argument yet.” 

“Stiles. No. Never.” 

“Wait for my argument!” Stiles pauses dramatically. “You’d be good at it, and it would make me happy. Boom.” 

“Sti, I’m not a good actor.” 

“I think you’re the best actor this school has ever seen,” Stiles says, letting a little bite creep into his voice. “Come on. Jackson gets the lead in every production. You should knock him off his perch. It’ll throw off his whole game for the year!” 

Derek chews his lip. “Your argument sucks, but I’ll think about it.” 

“Accepted.” Stiles blows him another kiss. “See you when I see you.” 

“Yeah,” Derek says. “Bye.” # 

Nobody is in the shower room besides Stiles. He turns the water hotter and hotter, until steam rises around him. He images that his thighs are still sticky from last night and the thought is enough to make him hard again. 

Never let a good erection go to waste, that’s his motto. He wraps his hand around his cock and braces his other hand against the wall. “Derek,” he groans. 

He imagines Derek joining him under the spray. _Fuck, you look hot wet._

”Derek,” he moans, a little louder. 

_Why you trying to get clean when I like you dirty?_

“Der, Der…” 

_That’s it, pretty boy, good baby. Come right in my hand like a good boy. Good boy. Good boy._

He comes so hard he sees black spots. There is soap in his eyes and he just stands under the spray shaking. “I love you, Derek,” he whispers. 

Last year he mouthed the words when Derek was asleep. This summer he said them aloud to an empty room. This is as far as he will go. He will not tell Derek, not yet. He won’t tell anyone. He won’t even tell God. 

He imagines that through the thud of water Derek is whispering, “ _I love you, too.”_

The shower next to him suddenly turns on and Stiles freezes. He was quiet, he knows he was— Derek has taught him how to be quiet— but what if somehow he had been heard? 

He shuts off the water and steps outside the stall cautiously. He can see the top of the boy’s head and he relaxes. It’s Jackson. The prick is too caught up in himself to even know where he is half the time. Sure enough, Jackson starts mumbling the words of one of Romeo’s monologues to himself. He doesn’t even know Stiles is there. 

Stiles wraps his towel around his waist and leaves his secret behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek is so sappy in this oh my goodness.  
> Next up: We meet some more students at St. Cecilia's and see the boys put on an act...in more ways than one.


	3. And Once Again, Reprise Our Roles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next two chapters are pretty short, so I'll try and upload Chapter Four tomorrow

Derek meets with his advisor, and then Father Jeff, and then Sister Harriet wants to talk with him about a possible research project for him to assist on, so that he doesn’t have a spare moment until after 3:00. He starts towards the room, ready to strip off his uniform and collapse into bed, when he remembers his conversation with Stiles. 

Derek _really_ hates to look like an idiot in front of people. 

But play rehearsals usually eat up hours of Stiles’s time through the semester, and damn it, Derek misses him when he’s gone. 

And his advisor was just telling him that a few more extracurriculars couldn’t hurt on his applications. 

Oh, fuck it. 

Derek does an about-face and heads towards the auditorium. 

Stiles is already sprawled out into a chair with a few photocopied pages of script in his hand. Jackson is practicing with Lydia up towards the front— “But SOFT!” he bellows dramatically, and Derek rolls his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says, taking a seat two down from Stiles. 

Stiles blinks up at him. “What are you doing here?” 

“You convinced me to give it a try.” 

Stiles practically explodes in his scramble to sit up. “Wait, really? I was totally bullshitting about you beating out Jackson, honestly. Dude trained in _New York_.” 

“Not that part.” Derek hesitates and hooks his pinky around Stiles’s. “When you said it would make you happy.” 

Stiles’s mouth drops open. “ _Der_ ,” he says, and for a crazy minute Derek feels himself leaning in as if he might kiss Stiles. Which is insane, because anyone could see them right now, and then the entire secret would be blown. For a minute Derek just doesn’t care, and he can see the flecks of gold in Stiles’s eyes… 

And then the spell is broken when another explosion of limbs nearly smack Derek in the face. Scott McCall takes the seat in between Stiles and Derek, already chattering away. 

“Okay, so I know yesterday I said I wasn’t going to pressure her, and I totally didn’t, like at all. But we spent most of the day together, and she said she was doing a lot of thinking and she thinks she’s ready. So next Friday, dude, we’re totally having sex!” 

“Wait,” Stiles says, shaking off the moment with Derek. “Allison agreed to sleep with you?” 

“Yeah, man! Can you believe it?” 

“Not really. Did you give her some kind of roofie?” 

“Fuck you, no. I guess that soundtrack I made her this summer just featuring renditions of “Only the Good Die Young” did its magic, though. The ukulele one probably tipped the scales.” 

“What a special day this is for your dick.” 

“And Friday is going to be the most special day of her _life_.” 

“Asterisk,” Derek mutters. 

“Oh, hi, Derek,” Scott says, as if he only now noticed Derek sitting next to him. “Thank God you’re here. I was just thinking to myself, _what I really need is an emotionally stunted he-man to give his opinion on my romantic life_.” 

“Yes, please.” Derek scowls at Scott. “Continue your conversation about fucking my sister. I always forget you trained with Miss Manners in your youth.” 

Scott immediately looks guilty. “I know I say this a lot, but I literally forgot you were related.” 

“Yeah, on our father’s side. You remember him, right? Cross-wearing, gun-toting, _very_ anti-premarital sex?” 

“Chris loves me,” Scott says primly. “I spent more time with him this summer than _you_ did.” 

“Scott, go grab the sides from Sister Marin and sign in,” Stiles says quickly when he sees Derek’s face darken. “Get a copy for Der and sign him in too while you’re at it, okay?” 

“I’m in too good a mood to tell you not to boss me around!” Scott sings, already halfway to the front of the auditorium. 

“If you ever dump me to start fucking him, I’ll blow my brains out,” Derek tells Stiles, slumping into his chair moodily. 

“I can’t dump you, Derek. You’re not my boyfriend.” 

Derek sits back up. “Where did that come from?” 

Stiles scowls at his script, looking annoyed with himself. “I don’t know. Forget it. All the drama of the theater is getting to me already.” 

Derek wants to say more, but Scott is already back with the sides and yammering about iambic pentameter. Derek stares at the words, tuning Scott and Stiles out. Maybe this was a mistake. He can still sneak out the back… 

“What are you doing here?” Somebody pokes him in the back of the neck and Derek jerks up. Cora is staring at him, eyes narrowed. “Did you come to watch me, or what?” 

“I’m auditioning.” Derek waves the script at her. 

“You’re auditioning?” Erica Reyes pops her head up too. The entire crew has gathered in the row behind Derek. “Why?” 

“This is it,” Isaac Lahey says. “This is real-life _High School Musical_. I always knew this would happen.” 

Cora giggles a little obviously and shoves her shoulder against Isaac’s. 

“Did you lose a bet?” Erica frowns “You can’t have. I’m the only one who makes bets around here. Are you _high_?” She grabs Derek’s head and stares into his pupils. “No, you _can’t_ be. I’m the only with pot. Nothing is adding up.” 

“I just thought I should try,” Derek mutters. He definitely has to find a way out of this. 

“He helped me run lines last year for _Midsummer_ ,” Stiles says, jumping to his rescue. “He was good. I convinced him to go for it this year.” 

That leads to a reminiscing session about last year’s show, which, honestly, Derek doesn’t remember much about. Stiles was Puck and Cora was Helena, he knows that much. Stiles had been good. He’d begged Derek to blow him before each show for luck. 

“There’s more to this, I know it,” Cora mutters in his ear. Derek waves her off, and then Sister Marin is calling the auditions to order. “Stiles Stilinski and Erica Reyes!” 

“Watch and learn,” Stiles says before grabbing Erica’s hand and sauntering up to the stage. 

Stiles is good— Derek has always thought so, but he’s biased. A few people laugh when Stiles trips over a line and Derek glowers at them until they feel the heat of his gaze and shut up. Derek claps when the scene finishes, assuming that’s what you do, but everyone just stares at him like he’s gone insane. 

“Thanks, Sourman,” Stiles says when he sits back down. “But we really don’t support each other here in the theater world. Not during auditions, anyway.” 

“Jackson Whittemore and Cora Hale!” 

Jackson’s decent, Derek supposes, but he seems like such a pompous ass up there. And Cora— she’s great. Her voice throbs with emotion, but she keeps swinging her hair forward to try and hide her scar. She had done the same thing during _Midsummer_. It looks awkward, and Derek’s heart breaks for her. Cora has never managed to accept what’s happened to her face. She hides behind the curtain of her hair and tries every new cream on the market, only to be bitterly disappointed when nothing happens. 

Derek is called up to the stage last along with Lydia Martin. Lydia smiles almost coyly when they step together and Derek swallows hard. Lydia has _gone through_ almost the entire senior class, but Derek has escaped simply by being Cora’s brother, and Stiles got away by coming up with a brilliant plan sophomore year. He very publicly announced he had a huge crush on Lydia, which was a surefire way to make sure she would never touch him. She ended up letting him down gently outside the caf, and the resulting rumors about the pathetic scene had been enough to keep any girls away from Stiles for the next year. 

It’s a shame, too, because Derek actually really likes Lydia. She’s got a wicked sense of humor, one that comports well with Derek’s blasé, sometimes mean brand of sarcasm. When she lets her mask drop she’s just a sweet, somewhat insecure girl who wants to be liked above all else. Derek knows exactly what that feels like. 

But Lydia is really eyeing Derek down right now. He stares at the script and, for a minute, wants to run off stage and back to his room. 

Might as well just get through it. 

“With love’s light wings did I o'erperch these walls,” he says, and realizes it feels kind of good. He rolls back his shoulders, smiles at Lydia, and continues. “For stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do, that dares love attempt. Therefore, thy kinsmen are no stop to me.” 

Lydia grabs his hand and raises it to her cheek. There are some muffled sniggers from the audience, but she just blinks at him innocently. “If they do see thee they will murder thee.” 

“Alack!” Derek tilts her face up and she beams at him. She is beautiful, and Derek wishes he could appreciate that in a more than aesthetic way. “There lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet and I am proof against their enmity.” 

Lydia takes his hand and places it between her breasts, and, shit, shouldn’t the nun be putting a stop to this? “I would not for the world they saw thee here,” she almost croons. 

Derek pulls her into his arms so he doesn’t have to worry about his hand slipping a little to the right or left. “I have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes. And but thou love me, let them find me here. My…” Derek hesitates. “My life were better ended by their hate than death proroguèd, wanting of thy love,” he finishes shakily. 

“By whose direction found thou out this place?” 

Derek glances out into the audience and makes eye contact with Stiles. “By love,” he answers. “That first did prompt me to inquire.” 

“That’ll do,” Sister Marin says. 

From the audience Stiles wolf-whistles and leads the rest of the group in applause. 

# 

**WINTER PRODUCTION: ROMEO AND JULIET**

 **CAST LIST**

 **

ROMEO: DEREK HALE 

JULIET: LYDIA MARTIN 

NURSE: CORA HALE 

TYBALT: JACKSON WHITTEMORE 

MERCUTIO: STILES STILINSKI 

BEVOLIO: SCOTT MCCALL 

LADY CAPULET: ERICA REYES 

LORD CAPULET: VERNON BOYD 

LADY MONTAGUE: ALLISON ARGENT 

READ-THROUGH THIS SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 17TH

**

“Dude!” Stiles shouts. “You did it!” 

Derek stares at the list, stomach sinking. This is bad. This is really, really bad. 

How is he going to tell his dad he’s been cast in a _play_? 

His friends mob him in congratulations. Even Jackson claps him on the back, a sour smile on his face. “You’re one talented guy, Hale,” he says. 

“Hey, man. Thanks.” 

“My Romeo!” Lydia swings into his arms and smacks a kiss on his cheek. Jackson’s eyes narrow to slits and Derek resists the urge to pluck Lydia off him and throw her halfway across the room. “This is going to be _so fun_ ,” she says cheerfully. “You know we have sex in this, right?” 

“Not on stage, Lyd,” Stiles says. 

She bats her eyelashes. “Maybe Sister will be open to a more modern interpretation.” 

“Is that why you’ve fucked half the school?” Cora snaps over her shoulder as she stares at the cast list. “Just practicing for your Tony Award?” 

“And have you been method-acting as a crazy, dumpy spinster to prepare for your role as the Nurse?” Lydia spits back. 

Cora turns. “Can you stop hanging off my brother, please? I’d hate for him to catch chlamydia.” She reaches out to shove Lydia away and Lydia swats at her hand. 

“Don’t _touch_ me!” 

“Said the whore, uncharacteristically.” 

“Enough!” Sister Marin steps in between the girls. Everyone immediately drops their gazes to the floor like kids caught stealing cookies. Sister Marin knows how to bring the Catholic guilt hard. “Are we having drama outside of rehearsal, ladies?” 

“No, Sister,” they both mumble. 

“You know, I placed a bet with Sister Katherine on how long it would take before you two got sent to Father Jeff for fighting.” She leans in, scowling. “I have thirty bucks riding that you make it until Friday. I have _very_ expensive tastes in bath bombs, ladies. Do I make myself clear?” 

“Yes, Sister.” 

“Good.” She waves them away. “Now scatter. Go pray or study or something.” 

Derek catches Cora’s arm as she storms away. The color is high in her cheeks and he knows she needs to be calmed down. Cora doesn’t have someone like Stiles to keep her grounded. “Hey,” he says gently as everyone converges on the cast list again. “You were so good up there, Cora-belle.” 

Cora sniffs and dashes the back of her hands against her eyes. “Not good enough.” 

“You know, it _might_ have been a little awkward if you got cast as the Juliet to my Romeo.” 

Cora looks over her shoulder at Isaac. “Yeah, well. I was hoping for a different outcome.” She forces a smile. “But congrats, big bro. Chris is going to be so excited.” 

“Let’s not tell him.” 

“Please. Allison’s already sent a text, called him, dialed up Skype, and tossed a carrier pigeon into the sky.” 

“Huh.” Derek chews his lip. “Temporary insanity defense?” 

“We can play the ‘Mom always wanted to see me on stage before she died’ card.” 

“Devious.” 

“But actually,” Cora points out, smiling again, “Mom would have lost her shit with joy over this.” 

“Hey,” Erica says as the group breaks apart. “This Friday there’s a rave at Beacon. We were thinking we’d all go around nine?” 

“In,” Stiles says. “Both of us.” 

“Maybe,” Derek says. 

Lydia pouts at him. “Maybe?” she says, leaning in with her eyes wide, and _oh, shit_ , Lydia is definitely trying to seduce him. Derek swallows hard and realizes that all eyes must be on him, wondering why he isn’t responding, wondering if there’s a reason he isn’t attracted to Lydia… 

“If you’ll be there, I’ll come,” he forces himself to say with a sickly grin. 

“Atta boy.” She squeezes his hand and walks down the hall. Her hips are _really_ waggling, Derek notices. It makes him feel a little sick. 

“Wow, Derek,” Stiles says flatly. “Look at you go.” 

“Aww,” Scott says. “I totally thought you were going to make a coming joke, Stiles.” 

“If you fuck her I’ll cut off your dick,” Cora says. 

# 

**Friday**

“Can I borrow this for tonight?” Stiles holds up one of Derek’s old Henleys. 

“Yeah. It’s too small for me, so keep it if you want. I don’t even know why I brought it back with me.” 

“You’re a hoarder.” Stiles pulls it one and plucks at the fabric. “Ugh, this is too big and it still feels like a second skin. How can you stand it?” 

Derek grins. “You look good.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” Derek wraps his arms around Stiles from behind and studies them in the mirror. “Now tell me what’s wrong.” 

Stiles looks away. “What? Nothing.” 

“You’ve been weird since the cast list went up. Four days, Stiles. I know something’s up with you.” 

“Der, I have no idea what you mean.” 

Derek sighed and leaned in to nuzzle his nose against Stiles’s ear. “Baby…” 

“Don’t, dude. Come on.” 

“Good boys don’t keep secrets.” Derek nips at Stiles’s earlobe. It’s a mean trick to pull, but Stiles has been moping around all week. 

“‘m not keeping secrets.” 

Derek reaches down to brush the tips of his fingers over the crotch of Stiles’s jeans. “Should I make you come in your pants right now for lying to me?” He says it teasingly, but Stiles’s dick leaps to attention. “Whoa. Guess that wouldn’t be a punishment, huh?” 

Stiles’s breath comes in a pant. “We don’t have time…” 

Derek grabs Stiles’s crotch lightly, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the bulge of Stiles’s erection. “Tell me what’s bothering you.” 

“This is blackmail,” Stiles complains. “Or, no, shit, duress, or something.” 

“You want to wear a dress?” Derek says, deliberately mishearing. He reaches under Stiles’s shirt to run his hands up towards his nipples. “I could be into that.” 

“Lydia wants to fuck you,” Stiles says. 

Derek’s hands still. “Oh.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles steps away from Derek’s embrace. “Like, really obviously. And she’s not the type to stop until she gets what she wants.” 

Derek sighs. “I’ve been trying to ignore it.” 

“She’s like a cat, dude. When you ignore her, she’s all over you. If you try to pet her, she scratches your skin off.” 

“So I should try to…pet her?” 

Stiles throws up his hands in frustration. “God, my metaphors are wasted on you— ” “—Because they make no sense! — ” 

“She’s already in your lap! She’s curled up, purring, nudging her adorable little head against your chest, waiting for one good scratch behind the ears before she’s out of there. Okay? Can we kill this metaphor now?” 

“Okay,” Derek says, pulling Stiles into his arms again, because a frazzled Stiles is just too adorable for him to handle. “First of all, you started it. Second, I’m not going to fuck Lydia Martin. I think I might have a plan.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Jackson is head-over-heels for her. We find a way to get them together, she’s off my back, and Jackson is so distracted by her that there’s no way he catches me in class rank. We kill two birds with one stone.” 

Stiles thinks it over. “They already hooked up last year.” 

“So? The revolving door that is Lydia’s vagina won’t mind.” 

“Ew.” Stiles laughs. “Did you steal that from Cora?” 

“I’ll never tell.” Derek kisses Stiles lightly on the lips. “Good plan?” 

“It has potential.” Stiles turns and kisses Derek back, winding his arms around Derek’s neck. “We have a rave to get to,” he says reluctantly. “To be continued?” 

“Yeah.” Derek’s voice is a little hoarse. “As soon as we get back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT UP: The rave leads one student to overindulge, another to break his own rules, and a third to make a surprising confession


	4. One Enchanted Night of Dreams Disguised in Swirling Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, finally got a spare minute to post this!
> 
> Quick warning: teenagers use drugs recreationally in this chapter. There's also one sort of off-color religious joke in the middle, so tread cautiously if that kind of thing upsets you. The drugs in question are Ketamine and Propofol, mostly because I'm currently doing mock trial (the stress of which has taken thirty years off my life (RIP, me!)) and the case involves the interaction of those drugs. I've never used K myself, so I am very sorry if I got anything wrong. 
> 
> Also, thank you so much to everyone who has left a little love! In the words of Tracy Morgan, "You're all beautiful! You're all my miracles!" 
> 
> Enjoy!

It isn’t until they meet on the first floor of the dormitory that Derek realizes he has no idea how the group plans to get to the rave. They aren’t allowed cars on campus and Beacon is seven miles away, too far to walk. 

Erica doesn’t look concerned. “Here’s everybody,” she says, scanning the group. “Two minutes and we go.” 

“Jackson’s not here,” Derek objects. He’d like to start his plan to hook Jackson and Lydia up tonight, especially since Lydia has already started throwing sideways glances at him. 

“We’re meeting him. Keep your voice down.” 

“Cora’s not here either.” 

“She’s not coming,” Lydia says. She looks a little out of it already. 

“Why not?” 

Lydia sighs. “I don’t know, Derek. She’s in a mood.” She looks at him and shrugs despondently. “I tried, okay? I really did. But…” she drops her voice and Derek leans in to hear. “I think she got upset because she tried this new makeup, and it just flaked off. She said she wants to be alone for right now.” 

“Is she okay?” 

“Yeah. If you go up there she’ll just feel bad that I told you.” Lydia shrugs again and Derek realizes in surprise that it actually seems like she cares about Cora. He’s never really understood their feud, but more than once Lydia has attempted to make peace, only to be brutally rebuffed. Maybe she’s kinder than Cora makes her out to be. 

“Thank you,” Derek tells her sincerely. Stiles kicks his shin and scowls at him slightly. 

“Okay,” Erica says, twisting out of Boyd’s arms to beckon them forward. “Let’s do it.” 

They slink outside, and Derek blinks in surprise. The church van is idling at the curb, with Jackson sitting impatiently at the wheel. “You stole the van?” he hisses in shock as they all climb in. 

“Jackson did.” 

“I’m head of the field trip committee,” Jackson says. “I have a copy of the keys.” 

“Yeah, but…” Derek shakes his head. Jackson never breaks rules. “Why?” 

“Because he’s awesome,” Lydia practically coos, leaning over the front seat to smack a kiss on Jackson’s cheek, and when Jackson flushes red Derek locks eyes with Stiles. 

_Game on._

Somehow Lydia manages to get next Derek so he ends up trapped between her and the window. Stiles is in the row of seats behind him, shoved together with Scott, Allison, and Isaac. “We’re going to need a damn good lie if the cops pull us over,” Stiles says. 

“Who would pull over a van full of Catholic kids?” 

“Jewish cops?” Isaac cracks. 

“Calm down. The cops aren’t going to pull us over.” Erica, riding shotgun, takes off her seatbelt and turns around. “Alright, kids. I’ve brought along some friends.” She opens her hand to reveal a baggy full of small, off-white tablets. “We’ll go with the usual first-time pricing. Five bucks for one tab.” 

“Is that Ecstasy?” Lydia asks, leaning forward to see better and giving Derek a bird’s-eye view down her shirt. 

“K. Great for raves. Street-approved.” 

“Sounds it,” Stiles says seriously. “You know a drug is reputable when it only goes by one letter.” 

Erica cuts her eyes at him. “It’s _ketamine,_ , jackass. I thought everyone knew that.” 

“How strong is it?” Scott sounds nervous, which makes sense; the last time he took an Erica drug he’d lost control of his bodily functions and pissed himself on the dance floor. 

“It’s powerful shit. Can be dangerous if you combine it with the wrong thing. Which reminds me.” Erica digs in her bag and pulls out another clear baggies, this one with a large preloaded syringe. Derek swallows hard. Erica’s been dealing since sophomore year, but she’s really working her way up to the hard stuff. “Thirty bucks if you want this. It’s Propofol, and it’s a sedative. Take one dose and you’ll feel like you’re floating. I can’t give you Propofol and K together, though. You gotta choose.” 

“I’m not paying thirty bucks for a knockout drug,” Isaac says. “Here’s five for K.” 

Everyone digs in their pockets for money. “None for me,” Allison pipes up, unsurprisingly; she won’t even drink beer. Boyd waves it off as well. Derek waffles for a minute— he’s smoked pot with his friends and did a MDMA hit junior year, but the pills in Erica’s hand look too dangerous for him. What would Chris say if Derek was arrested for drug use? 

“Pussy,” Stiles says in his ear. 

“Shut up.” 

“Don’t be such a girl, Derek,” Isaac says, and Derek feels himself jerk instinctively. His mind kicks into overdrive, the way it always does when someone makes that sort of comment. _Is it gay to refuse drugs? Did he say that to see how I would react? If I don’t take it, what will they think? Are they already thinking something? Will agreeing convince them they’re wrong?_

Derek pulls out the money just to shut his brain up. 

“These really shouldn’t be taken with alcohol,” Erica cautions as she starts doling out the pills. “If you’ve already been drinking, I wouldn’t recommend it.” She narrows her eyes at Lydia. “ _Got it_?” 

“I’m not drunk,” Lydia says innocently, holding out her palm. Erica rolls her eyes but hands over the pill, then tosses a water bottle back at the group. “Share, please.” 

Jackson pulls into the parking lot as everyone swallows the pills. “They start hitting you fast,” Erica warns, hopping out of the car so gracelessly Derek knows she’s been sampling her own product. “Things are about to get wild. Let’s go.” 

# 

There is magic at the tips of Stiles’s fingers. He feels it sparking, leaping out in little spurts of light. It is making its way up his arms and singing in his blood. His heartbeat is outside his body, thudding in time to the beat of the club. 

He is in a tangle of bodies. They are not dancing so much as they are forming one large, beating organ, pulsing along with a wordless beat of music. He can see Scott and Allison, beams of colored lights illuminating their faces. Derek is on the outskirts of the group, face tilted towards the ceiling, mouth open slightly as if he is inhaling the freedom in the air. 

From somewhere off to Stiles’s side there is a commotion. He turns to look and sees Lydia, sagging in Jackson’s arms. Some part of his brain knows that isn’t normal, and he dreamily moves closer. Jackson is trying to make her stand up. The lights pulse on and off his face, making him look like a stop-motion film with half the frames missing. 

There’s Erica. “Lyd, were you drinking?” she shouts over the music. Lydia’s head flops forward and back. Her mouth opens as if she is trying to wail. 

“You _stupid fucking bitch_!” Jackson shouts at Erica, and then Boyd is there, too, holding one large hand out to stop Jackson from lunging at his girlfriend. A giggle bubbles up in Stiles’s chest, expands but doesn’t pop. This isn’t funny, but it doesn’t feel real, either. 

“She’ll be fine,” Erica is saying. Stiles can heard the words in jagged spurts. “She needs _air_ … take her to the van, let her lie down in the back, roll the windows down, make sure she doesn’t choke on vomit...” 

The words follow Stiles like a comet’s tail as he fades back into the crowd. No need to worry. Lydia will be fine, and Jackson will be with her, just like they wanted. The stars are being linked together for them tonight. 

Derek is somewhere, but Stiles doesn’t mind. They will be pulled together soon. The music will lead them to each other. 

The music changes and Stiles is dancing. He is moving against strangers and rubbing against the taut body of a beautiful girl like a bow against a violin. The music will never stop, and neither will he. Then the girl is gone, and a man is in her place. He puts his hands on Stiles’s hips and grinds. He likes the feel of the man’s thick hands, the bulge in his jeans against Stiles’s ass. He presses into the man as if he can make them one. He feels a nose in his hair, then hands coming around to the button on his jeans. 

Suddenly the man is being pulled away. Stiles sees dark hair, stubble, almond eyes. Derek found his way to Stiles, just as Stiles knew he would. The strange man tries to return and Derek actually bares his teeth at him like an animal. He wraps his arms around Stiles, ruts into him. Maybe he says _mine_ , or maybe the knowledge simply charges the air around them. Either way, Stiles reaches up to wind his own arms around Derek. _Yours_. 

The man is gone. Derek and Stiles are part of the crowd and yet separate, hiding in plain sight. Stiles is dancing with Derek and everyone can see and nobody cares. Derek’s hands are rough against his skin, under his shirt, exploring. Stiles rubs his cheek against Derek’s until his skin burns. He imagines he can scent Derek the way an animal would scent its mate. 

“God, you’re amazing,” Derek says, right in Stiles’s ear. He hold Stiles tight against his body and thrusts into him as though he cannot get close enough. He lips are at the pulse in Stiles’s neck, tasting him. Stiles throws back his head, searching for Derek’s lips with his own. He feels the soft collide of a kiss for a brief moment before Derek is pulling away. 

Derek stares at Stiles like a sleepwalker suddenly woken. “Air,” he shouts, hooking his thumb towards the side door. He stumbles away from Stiles, past the crowd. Stiles follows. He feels his high starting to fade, and for a minute he wants to turn back into the crowd and let it send him up again. _Not without Derek_. He sighs and keeps following. 

The cool outside air slaps him in the face, waking him up further. The emergency exit led them to the alley between the side of the club and the restaurant next door. Stiles can see a sliver of the parking lot but it’s mostly blocked off by a Dumpster. They’re hidden again. 

He stands next to Derek silently for a minute. 

“Are you okay?” he asks finally, reaching out to put a hand on Derek’s back. 

Derek jerks under his touch. “I’m fine. I just— I shouldn’t have taken that shit.” 

“Do you feel sick?” 

“No. I don’t like feeling that way. That was stupid in there. What we did.” Derek bites off the end of each sentence without facing Stiles. “I wouldn’t have if I was sober.” 

“Nobody noticed.” Stiles feels another swell inside, but now it’s anger. “Everyone was dancing just like us. _Nobody cared._ ” 

“ _You tried to kiss me._ ” Derek slams his hand into the Dumpster. “You _cannot_ do that in public, Stiles. You just can’t.” 

“Why?” 

“Because people will see. They’ll know about us.” 

“So?” 

Derek finally turns and stares at Stiles. “What do you mean, _so_?” 

“I mean…would it be the worst thing in the world for everyone to find out?” 

Derek hiccups out a laugh. “Fuck, you’re not all here yet. There’s no point in talking right now—” 

“I’m here.” Stiles grabs Derek’s hand and pulls Derek towards him. His high is making him brave, maybe stupid. He doesn’t care. “I think it’s time, Der.” 

“Time?” 

“To come out.” 

Derek shudders and pulls his own arms around himself. “Baby, don’t do this to me.” 

Stiles feels something in his chest, tumbling, read to spring forth. It makes his legs shake. “Der,” he says softly. 

“Stiles, listen to me.” Now, finally, Derek reaches for him. He rests his forehead against Stiles’s and speaks gently. “This world doesn’t have a place for us. We made our own place. Where we’re safe.” His voice drops lower, almost cajoling now. “We have our room, don’t we?” 

Stiles can hardly breathe with Derek so close. “Yeah,” he manages. 

“That’s where we get to be together. That’s where I keep you safe…where I make you feel so good…” Derek bumps his nose against Stiles’s. “You haven’t forgotten what we do in our room, have you? Once we get back tonight, I can remind you…” 

Stiles can feel his erection swelling in his jeans and he swallows hard. “I know we have our room, Der.” 

“Good.” Derek steps away, giving Stiles’s hand one last squeeze. He looks terribly satisfied, as if he has just won something, and it makes Stiles feel a little sick. “That’s our place, Stiles. We can’t just open the door and let everybody in.” 

“Why?” 

“Goddammit it, Stiles! Stop being obtuse!” Derek scrubs his hands over his face. Siles swallows; the K is making Derek erratic. This is not the way he wanted to have this conversation, but here they are. 

“I mean it,” he says gently. “Why can’t we give the world a chance, Derek?” 

Derek stares away from him, flint-eyed. “So it can just take away everything I care about again?” he says quietly. “No. I don’t give second chances.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m not talking about this anymore.” 

He strides away from the dumpster and towards the front entrance of the club. Stiles chases after him. “Derek, don’t walk away from me. Der!” 

“ _What_ , Stiles?” Derek spins, face thunderous. “Look, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. This has always been fine for us. Why are you fighting it now? What’s changed here, Stiles?” 

“Me!” Stiles reaches for Derek and Derek raises one hand to swat it off. Stiles grabs it, holds tight. “I love you, Derek,” he says. 

Derek freezes. Emotions flash across his face too quickly for Stiles to read. “Say that again,” he whispers, almost soundlessly. 

“I love you. Derek, I love you.” Stiles’s voice breaks. “I need you, okay? Not just in our room, but out here. Everywhere. _I love you._ I can’t…I don’t know how to not-say it anymore.” 

Derek just stares at him and Stiles feels his eyes welling up. It was wrong, so wrong, to tell him like this. There were a thousand other ways. _Better_ ways. He’s ruined it now, scared Derek away… 

Derek grabs him, pulls him close, and kisses him. It’s open-mouthed and desperate, his tongue crowding Stiles’s mouth, tasting him. Stiles gasps and kisses him back, winding his arms around Derek’s neck. Derek lifts him slightly, hitching one of Stiles’s legs around his thighs, and moves back, so that Stiles is pressed against the brick wall behind them. He keeps kissing Stiles, sloppy and firm. 

“Say it again,” Derek gasps when he pulls away. 

“I love you.” Stiles laughs giddily. 

“Again.” 

“ _I love you._ ” Stiles is flying again. He presses both hands to Derek’s cheeks and caresses the words onto his lips. “ _I love you_.” 

“Oh, baby.” Derek buries his face in Stiles’s neck. He doesn’t say it back, but that’s alright. It’s not time yet. Stiles understands. This was the crossroads that Stiles was afraid of, and they have sailed past it together. 

_Derek is not afraid to be loved by Stiles_. Stiles imagines that nothing in the world could ruin this moment. 

They hold each other, locked in an embrace, so wrapped up in each other that neither of them bother to think of the open sky staring down at them, stars like a thousand eyes of Heaven taking note. 

And neither of them notice Jackson, sitting in the church van with the windows rolled down, staring out at them as though what he had witnessed had turned him into stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT UP: Derek rationalizes, Jackson goes to Confession, and Stiles makes a decision.


	5. The Sacrament of Oppression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: A character thinks about the ramifications of coming out. Victims of hate crimes are named, but no details are given

**Sunday**

_Stiles: 7:23: Yo why do you look so miserable_

 _Stiles: 7:23: We’re in the house of the Lord, frowntown_

 _

Derek 7:34: are you here? 

Stiles: 7:34: I’m in the row right across from you. im waving 

Stiles: 7:34: Why are you not looking I keep waving like an idiot

_

Derek glances over to see Stiles waving energetically at him, dressed in his Sunday best. 

_Stiles: 7:35: Hi._

 _Derek: 7:35: Why are you here? You never come to Sunday mass. You said you were going last night after the readthrough_

 _

Stiles 7:36: scott’s grand sex plan didn’t happen like he wanted so we drank a stupid amount of blue moon, talked about our feelings, and ended up swearing a chastity pledge to each other, which, you know, I obviously lied about 

Stiles: 7:36: So I figured I had to come this morning 

Stiles: 7:36: Im not a HEATHEN. 

Derek: 7:37: Wait, Scott “My Dick Rules Everything Around Me” McCall swore a chastity pledge?” 

Stiles: 7:37: The Moon makes him a different guy. But he already texted to ask if shower jerkoffs were a violation, so don’t mourn the old scott just yet. 

Stiles: 7:37: but anyway you looked so miserable last night and you wouldn’t talk after the readthrough so whats going on 

Stiles 7:37: and please don’t bullshit me 

Derek: 7:38: I don’t know. The read through was kind of strange. Lydia and I have to kiss a lot 

Derek: 7:39: And Jackson’s being sort of weird 

Stiles: 7:39: Did you notice that too??? He keeps shoving his shoulder into me. Scott said he hasn’t noticed it 

Derek: 7:41: Yeah he kept doing that to me too 

Stiles: 7:41: I think he’s pissed about lyd being into you and he’s taking it out on me as your roommate 

Derek: 7:41: Yeah, figures. Sorry. 

Stiles: 7:42: What else is wrong 

Stiles: 7:42: Repeating my no bullshit request so delete whatever lie you’re typing and tell me the truth 

Derek: 7:44: My dad called last night. 

Derek: 7:44: He’s pissed about the play 

Derek: 7:45: Especially since I had to quit football to do it. 

Derek: 7:45: apparently he planned to do a lot of campaigning with parents at the football games between now and november. So I fucked him over by quitting. 

Stiles: 7:46: That’s idiotic 

Derek: 7:46: Yepp 

Stiles: 7:47: :( I’m sorry, Der 

Derek: 7:47: Thanks 

Stiles: 7:47: Try to cheer up 

Stiles: 7:48: Listen, they’re playing our song

_

The chorus launches into “Agnus Dei.” 

_Derek: 7:49: Hahaha_

 _Stiles: 7:49: Not to be this guy but youre not mad at me right_

 _

Derek: 7:50: Why would I be mad at you? 

Stiles: 7:51: We haven’t really talked about Friday. 

Derek: 7:52: I’m not mad I promise 

Derek: 7:52: It was a little crazy but not in a bad way 

Derek: 7:54: Stiles, I’m not mad. 

Stiles: 7:55: Okay. 

Derek: 7:55: Stiles 

Stiles: 7:55: Yepp 

Derek: 7:55: Say it again. 

Stiles: 7:56: I love you. 

Derek: 7:57: Thanks. 

_

Derek highlights and deletes the entire conversation, then stands with the rest of the congregation to receive his communion. 

# 

_Does Stiles expect to hear it back?_

Derek agonized all on the car ride back to the dorms on Friday, once his high had worn off. He’d tossed and turned in bed, with Stiles pulled closed to his side, wondering what Stiles was dreaming about. Now he sits at his desk, staring at his script without reading it, listening to Stiles breathing across the room. 

Every time Derek hears Stiles say those three words— even when he runs over the memory of them in his mind, counting the syllables like rosary beads— he feels his heart lifting in his chest. It feels like power, like joy. 

It feels like love. 

It can’t be. 

If Derek loves Stiles, things will have to change. People will have to be told. Really, Derek should be putting a stop to it all right now. If Stiles loves Derek, they’ve already got one foot out of the closet. But Derek thinks they can sustain their relationship if they don’t start thinking crazy things. Like the idea that their love can be stronger than doctrine. Or the idea that they deserve to have their love known. 

If that happens, Chris will find out, and, in the time before Derek turns eighteen, Chris will remove him from the dorms and have him at Father Jeff’s side every waking minute. The teachers will be on strict orders to keep the two homosexuals away from each other. That’s if Derek is lucky, and Chris doesn’t pull him from St. Cecilia’s and put him in conversion therapy. Honestly, Chris is more likely than not just to disown him. There will be no Notre Dame, no money for college at all. And Stiles, if he’s allowed to stay at school, will be alone, without Derek to protect him from the people who might think they could beat the gay out of him. 

Or worse. 

Derek opens his laptop, angling himself towards the wall so Stiles won’t see what he’s searching. He pulls up articles on Matthew Shepard. Harvey Milk. Gary Matson and Winfield Mowder. Joshua Wilkerson. 

Even if it never happens to them…even if their names are never added to this list…the sword will always be hanging over their head. They can never be truly happy again, not the way they are now. 

Sex can be hidden. Love cannot be. 

So if Derek loves Stiles, he will lose him. 

But, Derek thinks, he can make it work this way. Surely Stiles will be satisfied as long as he can say those three words to Derek. After all, Derek likes to think Stiles is getting something out of their arrangement. Does he really _need_ to hear that Derek loves him, too? 

“What are you thinking about over there?” Stiles calls to him. 

Derek looks up and smiles. “I was thinking you could help me run lines.” He holds up his script. “The pilgrims’ hands bit?” 

Stiles grins, slapping his textbook closed. “’Well then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do’?” 

“Yeah,” Derek says. He estimates that Stiles will be giving him a blowjob before they run the scene twice. “That’s exactly the part I was thinking about.” 

# 

Father Jeff has been working at St. Cecilia’s for thirteen years. There’s not much that could shock him, mainly because he’s met so many students who seem hell-bent on doing just that. 

For that reason, he always feels a little weary just before Confession. Every few weeks a student— usually one of the younger kids— comes in and makes up some ridiculous story, just to see what his reaction might be. They seem to think that he won’t recognize their voices, which is just plain silly. Trying to figure out which student is which is his guilty pleasure. 

Today he’s more than halfway through his usual shift and he’s already dealt with three students who think they might be pregnant, one of whom admitted she was a virgin— apparently the story of the Blessed Mother deeply affected her— and another of whom was a boy trying to disguise his voice. He only has an hour left before he can take off his collar, grab a drink, and Skype with his sister. He cannot wait. 

A new student slides into the confession booth. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. It has been three weeks since my last confession.” 

Easy one. Jackson Whittemore. This should be fairly quick and painless; Jackson tends to admit to sins of pride, usually as a way of bragging about himself. “What troubles you, son?” 

Jackson is quiet for a moment, which usually signals to Jeff that a student is not here to confess, but simply to talk to the priest with some degree of anonymity. “Father…if you see someone else commit a sin…is keeping it quiet a sin, too?” 

“Each person is responsible for their own soul, child.” 

Jackson huffs in exasperation. “But what if it’s a really bad one? Not, like, a one-time sin. The kind that corrupts a soul if they don’t stop what they’re doing.” 

Jeff frowns. He knows there are some problems in Jackson’s family, but this sounds like it might be more serious than he would have anticipated. “If someone is being hurt—” 

“They’re not. They think it’s _right_. That’s the problem.” Jackson pauses again. “Maybe someone is being hurt, though. Someone who doesn’t know about it, and is being led on…” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. If this is about one of your fellow classmates, and you think they may be in some sort of trouble, I’d like to know about it. Can you be a little clearer? Ask the Lord to help you find the right words.” 

But now Jackson doesn’t wait. “Is exposing sin what the Lord would want, Father? That’s all I need to know.” 

“That would depend on the motivation of the person exposing it. They must truly believe that what they are doing will help the sinner. If they do it out of malice, or for personal gain, they simply add to the sin with their own. There’s a difference between exposing sin and seeking to help a sinner. Do you understand that distinction?” 

“No,” Jackson admits. 

“Do you want to tell me about a classmate in trouble because you want me to help them, or do you want to share a secret about a classmate with the school simply because it’s gossip?” 

Jackson’s guilty silence is answer enough. 

“You classmates would see that for what it was, child. You might enjoy the drama and the attention for a few moments, but in the end it would only serve to hurt your soul and the soul of person you exposed.” 

“I understand.” 

“But if you truly feel someone needs help, I would want to know about it. You don’t have to give me details.” 

“I can’t. Not yet.” 

They sit there quietly, together but separated by the screen. Father Jeff so often wishes he could see the face of his penitent. It would be far easier for him to simply speak to the students as one person to another, but he supposes they might not be as comfortable with that arrangement. 

“I’ll wait,” Jackson says finally, sounding resigned. “Until it really can’t go on any further.” 

“If you ever need to talk about this, you can always come see me in my office. It may be easier for you that way.” 

“No. I have my answer.” Jackson clears his throat. “I repent all sins committed in this life, and I ask for your blessing.” 

Technically the boy hasn’t confessed anything, but Father Jeff makes the sign of the cross. “Go in peace, serve the Lord.” 

“Thanks be to God.” 

There is a long silent moment while Jackson scrambles out of the booth and the next student takes his place. 

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Hear me, Father. It has been six weeks since my last confession.” 

Jeff smiles. Another easy guess. It’s Stiles Stilinski, one of Jeff’s favorite students. Stiles’s confessions are usually heartfelt but minor, which Jeff thinks is the sign of a healthy soul. And he always ends with, “Please forgive me as well, for everything I didn’t tell you today,” which Jeff finds rather charming. 

“Forgive me, Father,” Stiles continues. “For I have sinned.” Then he, too, pauses. “Actually? I think maybe I haven’t.” 

Jeff can’t help but grin. The students are keeping him on his toes tonight. “Can you elaborate?” 

“Here’s the thing, Father.” Jeff hears Stiles adjust himself on the seat, settling in for a debate. “The Church gave me the Law. But God gave me this heart. And they’re telling me two different things, here.” 

“The Devil can worm his way into our hearts to trick us.” 

“I’m not supposed to trust my heart now?” 

“You should always trust your heart. But if you hold to the Lord’s creed, you will never be led wrong.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “There’s the conflict.” 

“What part of the doctrine is troubling you?” 

“Does it matter? Are some parts more important than others?” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Father Jeff says. “I’d like to talk through your concerns.” He can feel a suspicion tugging at the back of his mind, but he ignores it. It’s not his place to speculate, to cast sin where it may not be. 

“Can we keep from specifics?” 

“If that’s what you need.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” Stiles gusts out a breath. “Father, I lie about things. _A lot_. And I really hate it. It doesn’t feel like the way I should be living my life.” 

“So stop,” Father Jeff says simply. 

“Yeah?” 

“Of course.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“Well,” Stiles says. “That was painless enough.” 

Jeff laughs. From the other side of the booth, Stiles joins in, sounding a little shaky. “Surely _that_ wasn’t what troubled you?” 

“I don’t know, Father. Lies can get comfy.” 

“For a time. What’s that expression? ‘A nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there?’” 

“You know,” Stiles says, “You’re pretty good at this.” 

“Thank you.” 

“No, thank you, Father. Really.” Stiles taps on the screen as if punctuating the discussion. “Now I actually do have a couple sins rotting in here, if there’s still time for you to hear them. Just little stuff.” 

“I’d be delighted,” Jeff says. 

# 

Stiles steps out of the booth, feeling lighter than he has in years. For the past three days it seemed like he had been shedding bits of a heavy burden, and now the last of it is left behind. 

God does not want him to stay in the closet. God wants him to stop living a lie. 

God wants him to come out. 

And so he will. 

Derek is only a few steps behind him; Stiles can feel it. If he does this right, he can convince Derek to come out, too. They can walk down the hall together holding hands. They can dance together at the prom. They can even say, _“I love you,_ ” to each other in front of anyone they want. 

Stiles pulls out his phone and texts Cora. 

_Stiles: 5:31: I want to throw Derek a birthday party_

 _Stiles: 5:31: A surprise party, specifically_

 _

Cora: 5:31: Uhhh 

Cora: 5:32: Let’s make a list of things Derek hates 

Cora: 5:32: 1. His birthday 

Cora: 5:32: 2. Surprises. 

Cora: 5:32: Should I keep going? 

Stiles: 5:33: He should like his birthday. 

Stiles: 5:33: He just mopes through it every year 

Stiles: 5:33: I want to change that. 

Cora: 5:34: k how 

Stiles: 5:34: We’ll do it in the old barn 

Stiles: 5:35: invite everyone he cares about 

Stiles: 5:35: it’ll just be like a big celebration of Derek. A way to tell him how much the people in his life love him 

Cora: 5:36: wow so creative. 

Cora: 5:36: We should get those cupcakes from joannes bakery 

Stiles: 5:37: Does that mean you’re in? 

Cora: 5:37: ugh, fine. You better make it great if you want it to work, though 

Stiles: 5:38: Don’t worry about that.

_

Stiles slips his phone back into his pocket just as he reaches the door to his room. He knocks “Shave and a Haircut” out of habit and steps inside. 

“Where were you?” Derek asks absentmindedly. 

“Confession.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Derek looks up at him and grins. He’s wearing his glasses, which Stiles finds unbearable sexy. “Have you been a bad boy, Stiles?” 

“Yeah.” Stiles slides onto his lap and locks his arms around his neck. “But I could be a worse one.” 

Derek laughs and starts kissing up Stiles’s neck. Stiles closes his eyes and nestles a little closer into him. 

Derek’s birthday is the Saturday before Fall Break. The party will be Friday. Stiles will make sure that Derek feels how much he is loved and respected by his classmates. The next day, after the five-hour _Romeo and Juliet_ rehearsal they have to attend before they can go home, Stiles will ask Derek to come out with him. 

Over the break, they will tell their families. 

When they get back to St. Cecilia’s, they will tell the school. 

Stiles has a month and a half to convince Derek that this lie was a nice place to visit, but it’s not where they need to live anymore. 

Derek takes off Stiles’s shirt and tosses it across the room. “God,” he says. “I can’t keep my hands off you. Did you lock the door?” 

Stiles falls back onto the bed. “Yeah,” he says. “We’re safe.” 

_Easy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT UP: At Derek’s party, both Derek and Stiles get close to someone surprising.


	6. And If It's In Your Power, How Can You Sit Idly By?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick words of warning: a character consumes pot unwillingly in this chapter, and a few gay slurs are used, not necessarily with malice, but offensively

**October 30th ******

“Erica, what the actual fuck,” Stiles says. 

********

Erica stares wonderingly at the gigantic “Pin the Dick on the Derek” game she’s just tacked up on the wall of the barn. “Stiles,” she says, “I’m an _artist._ ” 

********

Stiles has to admit it’s a pretty good depiction of Derek, drawn on butcher paper with what appears to be crayon. The thirty paper dicks she has in a baggie, waiting to be pinned by a blindfolded participant onto paper Derek’s naked crotch, are a little less accurate, but Stiles figures he can’t fault her for that. 

********

“This was supposed to be an un-ironic throwback party, not an opportunity to ruin our collective childhoods.” 

********

“Then you’re going to hate the piñata Isaac and Boyd bought.” 

********

“It’s a cock!” Isaac yells helpfully from across the barn. 

********

“It’s a chicken, but it also kind of looks like a rooster,” Boyd corrects in his usual unflappable way, lugging a garbage bag full of ice through the open barn door. “We wanted a weasel, so it could be a game of “Whack the Weasel,” but it’s really hard finding piñatas these days. We settled.” 

********

“Great,” Stiles says. “And if Father Jeff or one of the sisters decide to stop by to make sure we’re behaving ourselves?” 

********

The students had been allowed to reserve the old barn on the far end of St. Cecilia’s property for the night, but Stiles knew that the administration would be well within their rights to stop by and make sure nobody was drinking or smoking. They technically were supposed to have an advisor present throughout, but Sister Marin had agreed to sign the paper and leave them to their own devices as long as they didn’t do anything stupid and showed up to rehearsal on time tomorrow. 

********

“Stiles, I can’t figure out the projector!” Cora calls from the barn loft. Stiles leaves Erica to go help Cora; the projector is vital to making this party a success. For the past month he’s been going around school with a video camera, getting students to record a personal birthday message to Derek. He’s edited it together into a thirty-minute little movie he can’t help but be proud of. 

********

“I think maybe these outlets are fucked,” Cora says as Stiles bends down next to her. 

********

“Nah, the green light is on. You just have to change the input.” Stiles messes around with the projector until the wall at the back of the barn starts glowing a faint blue. “There it is. You have the blu-ray set up? Turn it on so we can test the sound.” 

********

A minute later the video flickers to life. “Derek Hale?” a larger-than-life Father Jeff says from the wall. “One of the best students we’ve ever seen, certainly—” 

********

“Good to go!” Erica calls from the ground floor. 

********

Stiles turns it off, grinning. It’s been a long month and a half, planning this party in secret, but he can feel in his gut that tonight is going to be perfect. Derek has been so consumed with play rehearsals, schoolwork, and dodging Lydia that Stiles is pretty sure he has no idea what’s coming. Right now he’s working on a group project with Scott. In an hour Stiles will text them to say he’s waiting in the barn with beer to celebrate the upcoming fall break. Scott is in charge of making sure Derek comes. 

********

Guests are just starting to trickle into the barn. About thirty students have been invited; they can allow in a few stragglers, but the guest list rules are pretty tight to avoid fire code violations. Lydia is already here, helping put up streamers around the food table. She’s wearing a crop top that surely must be freezing in this weather, and Cora is glaring daggers at her. 

********

“She told me today that she’s making a move on Derek tonight,” she mutters to Stiles. “Apparently she wanted to know if she had my blessing.” 

********

“Let me guess, you told her to go fuck herself on Satan’s dick?” 

********

“I told her to go fuck herself with a spiky dildo, but yours is good too.” 

********

“I try.” Stiles glances back down at Lydia and orders himself not to worry. Lydia’s been trying to win Derek over for the past month, and Derek hasn’t done or said a single thing to make Stiles feel insecure. If anything, Derek has been more affectionate than ever before— Stiles doesn’t think he’s spent the night in his own bed since the school year began, and they spend half of _Romeo and Juliet_ rehearsal texting each other stupid, flirty jokes. Things are they best they have ever been, and after tomorrow they will be even better. 

********

Stiles hops down from the loft and inspects the food table. Guests were asked to chip in, and already the table is sagging under the weight of cookies, fudge, even a large tray of Jell-O shots. Stiles grabs a brownie and shoves it into his mouth whole. “Music!” he shouts to whichever of his volunteers is listening. “Did someone move my iPod?” 

********

“Right here.” Jackson waves at him from the corner of the barn where the iPod dock is set up. Stiles nods and grabs another brownie. Jackson has been a little off for weeks— probably pissed about Lydia and Derek— but whenever Lydia is around he puts on his best behavior. 

********

Everything is nearly in place. The final touch is a banner Stiles and Cora created together wishing Derek a happy birthday, which most of the school had signed within the past week. They hang it up right inside the door, and finally it’s time to text Derek and get into position. 

********

Stiles can feel his heart jack-rabbiting in his chest and he grabs a fourth— or it is his fifth?—brownie and waits for the door to open. God, he hopes this works. Derek always feels a little awkward when he’s in the spotlight, but play rehearsals have already started to cure him of that. Besides, how could anyone not appreciate an entire school coming together to celebrate their life? Derek is going to love this. He _has_ to. Stiles blinks and shakes his head as his thoughts begin to feel a little hazy. 

********

“God, Stiles,” Erica says. “How many of those brownies did you eat?” 

********

“Hm? I don’t know. Four?” 

********

“You know I made those, right?” 

********

Stiles frowns. “No…” 

********

“They’re _pot_ brownies,” Erica says apologetically. “Boyd said I should make a sign for them, but I forgot.” 

********

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles groans, but before he can focus on the feeling of a bubble slowly expanding in his stomach the barn door is sliding open and everyone is roaring, “SURPRISE!” 

********

# 

********

Derek blinks at the group of students staring at him with manic grins on their faces. 

********

“SURPRISE!” they scream again, shaking the walls of the barn. Derek looks up to see a gigantic banner with his name on it: _HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEREK!_

********

He’s already been seen. There’s no way he can just turn tail and run, is there? 

********

Before he can try, Lydia runs out and throws her arms around him, chattering away. 

********

“Stiles and Cora planned it! Isn’t it amazing? Everyone’s been losing their minds trying to keep it a secret!” 

********

“Stiles planned it?” Derek repeats. He looks around until he sees Stiles, pressed back against a table full of food, looking almost shy as he waves at Derek. 

********

“He’s been killing himself over it,” Cora says, arriving out of nowhere and slapping Derek on the back. “Happy early birthday, brother.” 

********

“Thanks.” Derek strains to look at Stiles again, but something else catches his eye. “Why is there a drawing of me naked over there?” 

********

He never gets a solid answer, as people are mobbing him from every side to wish him a happy birthday. For about twenty minutes Derek fields off hugs and cheek kisses from half-inebriated girls, forcing himself to keep a sickly smile on his face the entire time. It’s kind of nice, to feel so adored, but it all gets overwhelming after only a few minutes. 

********

“This is for you, Derek!” Cora’s voice calls from the rafters, and a video starts playing against the back wall. It’s confessional-style video of Derek’s friends and teachers, talking about how wonderful he is. Derek’s cheeks burn with a not-unpleasant mixture of pride and embarrassment. Do all of these people really care so much about him? 

********

Once the delight of having the guest of honor arrive has worn off, everyone simply falls into groups like any other party. Someone calls out that it’s time to strike the piñata, and there’s a mad rush for the paper-mache chicken strung up from the rafters. Derek stumbles into a dark corner of the barn, glad for a minute to be alone. 

********

Arms suddenly snake around him and a warm head presses against his shoulder blades. “You don’t want to club the cock?” Stiles snickers. 

********

Derek extracts himself from Stiles’s grip as best he can. “Nah,” he says. “What’s with you?” 

********

Stiles reaches for him again. “I wish _your_ cock was that big.” 

********

_Jesus_. Derek shoves Stiles off him again, a little less gently this time. Anyone could look over and see. “Are you flying, or what?” 

********

“Oh, yeah.” Stiles widens his eyes at Derek, trying to look innocent. “Don’t eat the brownies.” 

********

Derek sighs. Stiles is a mess when he’s high. “Do you need some water?” 

********

“I need a kiss,” Stiles says, and goes in for one. Derek jumps away like he’s been burned. 

********

“What’s wrong with you?” Stiles looks genuinely hurt. 

********

“What’s wrong with _me?_ ” Derek scrubs his hand over his face. On the wall behind him, the video switches over to Jackson: _”Well, who doesn’t love Derek Hale?_ ” he says sardonically. 

********

“I want you,” Stiles says simply, taking another step forward. 

********

Derek glances around to make sure no one is watching. “Not here. I shouldn’t even have to say that, no matter how fucked up you are.” 

********

“You’re right.” Stiles holds out one hand to Derek, as if in invitation. “You really _shouldn’t_ have to say that. So don’t.” 

********

“Derek!” Lydia calls from the piñata corner. “Come see how good I am with a stick!” 

********

Derek looks over his shoulder. Half of the party attendees are staring at him, face bright. They haven’t noticed what’s going on between him and Stiles yet, but they will if they look any closer. 

********

“Coming,” Derek calls. As he turns, he sees a look of bewildered hurt and anger on Stiles’s face. “We’ll talk later,” he says under his breath. “Okay?” 

********

“Oh yeah,” Stiles says, too loudly. “I’ll be waiting right here. _Asshole._ ” 

********

“Here’s the deal,” Lydia says when Derek reaches the group. “If I can crack it open, I get a kiss. Okay?” 

********

Derek laughs and forces himself not to look back at Stiles. “There’s no way you’ll do it.” 

********

“Sure I will.” Lydia leans in and kisses Derek on the cheek spontaneously. “That was just for luck,” she says as a few people wolf-whistle. Derek notices Jackson slip away from the group and out the barn door. 

********

Lydia squares her shoulder and raises the bat just as the video adjacent to her starts projecting an even larger Lydia onto the wall. _“Ever since the day I met him, I’ve just been in awe of Derek Hale. Who isn’t?_ ” 

********

The real Lydia swings the bat, making the rooster bob wildly. “You’ve got three swings total!” Isaac calls. 

********

She tries again and nearly knocks the rooster off its string. 

********

“Last one!” 

********

“Better pucker those lips up, Hale,” she says, and swings a final time. The rooster cracks right down the middle, spilling mini candy bars all over the floor. 

********

“Yes!” Lydia tosses the bat into the air as everyone else scrambles for the candy. “Fuck you, birthday boy. Who says I can’t handle a stick?” 

********

“Very nice,” Derek says awkwardly. 

********

Lydia tilts her face up to him. “Now I get my reward,” she says. 

********

The video switches over to Stiles, grinning into the camera with his eyes twinkling. _“Here’s the thing about Derek Hale: He’s an absolute superhero.”_

********

“Pay up, Hale!” someone shouts, and suddenly an entire group of students are chanting: “ _Kiss her! Kiss her!”_

 _“A superhero of the highest order. Do you want me to say it again, Der?”_

********

Derek leans in and lands a kiss awkwardly on the side of her mouth. The group explodes into cheering, even while Lydia takes a small step back, frowning, the only one to realize he hadn’t gone in for full contact. Derek turns just in time to see Stiles storming out of the barn door, his own televised reflection flicking against the back of his shirt. 

********

# 

********

_Asshole, asshole, asshole._

********

Stiles can barely see straight as he storms over the grounds, tripping over gravel and half-exposed roots as he goes. He thinks he’s set a course for the dorms, but he doesn’t care if he ends up stumbling all the way down to the highway. Just as long as he gets away. 

********

He had been stupid, so fucking _stupid._ He had thought the party would make Derek see how much he was loved and how many people wanted to be like him. And it had— that was the problem. Derek was supposed to realize that the only thing he was missing was the opportunity to love Stiles openly. Instead, the only thing Derek saw was how much he had to lose. 

********

Stiles flings himself to the ground and rests his head against a wall behind him. He’s found his way to the chapel, but he doesn’t feel like going inside. “Thanks a lot,” he says to the sky. 

********

A breeze rustles his hair, feeling vaguely offended. 

********

“You know, I don’t ask that you be in my corner a lot. But tonight was important.” 

********

The wind blows again. 

********

“Yeah, whatever. Look, I get that you know a lot, but somehow I doubt you understand what this feels like. To have all these plans, and think maybe they won’t come to pass, and to just be so fucking _scared_ that you start wishing you could just give up and take it all back?” 

********

The wind whaps him in the face. 

********

“Oh. Okay. I guess Jesus might get that.” Stiles squints up to the sky. “But that doesn’t really make me feel better. I don’t think this is what you want for us, so why are you just standing by? Can’t you see what you’re doing to me? Can’t you see that it _hurts_?” His voice scrapes his throat in pain and tears dot his vision. He knows full well it isn’t God he needs to be having this conversation with. 

********

“Who are you talking to, Stilinski?” 

********

Stiles jumps halfway out of his skin. Jackson is standing over him, a decanter clutched in one hand, smirking. “God,” he says lamely. 

********

“Good luck with that. Best I can tell he’s on vacation.” To Stiles’s surprise, Jackson sinks down next to him. “Wine?” 

********

Stiles stares at the decanter. “That’s _holy_ wine.” 

********

“Nope. Unblessed. That makes it holy wine-in-waiting. Fully legal, relatively speaking.” 

********

Stiles shrugs. “Ok.” 

********

Jackson hands it over and Stiles takes a cautious sip. Confession wine tastes the same before it’s been blessed, he notes with mild interest. “Thanks.” 

********

They pass the decanter back and forth. “Why’d you leave?” Jackson asks eventually. “I thought the party was your baby.” 

********

“I got bored.” 

********

“Yeah. Me too.” 

********

Another few passes of the wine. 

********

“I couldn’t stand another minute in there,” Stiles say finally. 

********

”Why not?” 

********

”I try and I try and I try, and I just get fucking ignored. 

********

Jackson looks sideways at him. “Me too, Stilinski.” He tilts his head back to drain the last few drops. When he puts it back down, he says, “You should really keep a tighter rein on your boyfriend.” 

********

Stiles snorts. “What, are you talking about Derek?” He knows Derek would lose his mind if he heard Jackson say that, even as a joke, but fuck Derek right now. 

********

“Yeah. He should stop jerking Lydia the fuck around.” 

********

“He’s been trying to let Lydia down for the past two months.” 

********

“Well, he’s not trying hard enough.” 

********

“What do you want him to do? He can’t just be a total dick to her when she hasn’t done anything wrong.” 

********

Jackson spins the decanter on the ground. “You know full well there’s a damn good way he could make her leave him alone.” 

********

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” 

********

Jackson glares at him. “He could tell her the truth.” 

********

For the first time Stiles feels an icy finger down his spine. “You lost me, man.” 

********

“Don’t play dumb, Stilinski. You’re clearly high, but you’re not stupid.” 

********

“I don’t— ” 

********

“I saw you,” Jackson says simply. “At the rave. I know you two are gay for each other.” 

********

Suddenly, too late, Stiles appreciates Derek’s caution. Because if Derek has even felt a pale, watered-down version of the gut-churning terror Stiles is currently experiencing, it’s a miracle he hasn’t been hospitalized yet. “Look, man, I don’t even remember the rave. We were so smashed out of our minds…” 

********

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you and Hale haven’t been fucking.” 

********

Stiles can’t breathe. 

********

“I heard what you said to him. _‘I love you Derek, I love you.’_ ” Jackson’s voice is a high-pitched parody of Stiles’s. “He didn’t say it back, though. Trouble in paradise?” 

********

Stiles reaches out to grab Jackson’s leg in supplication, but he stops himself just in time. If Jackson knows, he will surely think Stiles is disgusting; he will be afraid of his touch. “Jackson, _please._ ” 

********

“Don’t worry.” Jackson closes his eyes and rests against the wall. “I haven’t told anyone yet, have I?” 

********

“Why?” 

********

Jackson just shrugs. “Lydia would think it was a dick move. Besides, you guys could just deny it. It would look like I just made it up because I’m jealous of Hale. Then Hale would go after Lydia just to make sure nobody bought the rumors, and I’d be fucked every which way.” 

********

Between the pot and the horror Stiles can hardly keep a single thought straight. “You’re not going to tell anyone?” 

********

“Not for the moment.” 

********

A little bit of anger burns through the fear. “Are you going to blackmail me, or what?” 

********

“Don’t be a fucking drama queen, you fucking queen.” Jackson smirks. “I don’t have any plans to tell. But Hale better find a way to let Lydia down, because if this shit keeps up…” 

********

“Jackson, please. It would kill Derek to be outed like that.” Stiles hears himself panting, on the verge of a panic attack. “Look, we were thinking about coming out ourselves after break, okay? Just another week. Then you can win over Lydia however you want; she won’t give a shit about Derek anymore.” 

********

“I said I wasn’t going to tell. I’m not an asshole.” Jackson chews his lip. “You guys are really thinking about coming out?” 

********

“Yeah,” Stiles lies. “I really think he’s going to do it.” 

********

Jackson nods. “Good for you,” he says, actually appearing to mean it. “I can’t imagine living that way.” 

********

“Yeah.” Stiles knots his hands together. “It sucks.” 

********

They sit together for a long, long moment. The breeze whistles between them complacently. 

********

“Thank you for not telling anyone,” Stiles says finally. 

********

Jackson just nods. 

********

“You’re not an asshole.” Stiles looks at him and tries to smile. “But don’t call me a queen.” 

********

“Whatever, homo.” 

********

“Okay, now you’re an asshole.” 

********

Jackson smirks. “Sorry, queer-a-tron.” 

********

“Stiles, dude. You can call me Stiles. Or Stilinski. Because that’s my _name.”_

Jackson sticks out his hand and they shake on it. 

“I’m going to bed,” Jackson says, struggling to his feet. “Just gotta sneak the bottle back into the chapel.” 

“Don’t get caught.” 

“Good advice, coming from you.” Jackson smacks him on the back a little too hard. “Hey, Stiles?” 

“Yeah?” 

Jackson looks torn for a moment, and then he speaks very quickly. “I’ve been in love with the same girl for two years and she couldn’t care less about me. I know what unrequited love looks like. Hale loves you. Just in case you were worried.” 

Stiles blinks in amazement. “I…thanks.” 

“Just thought you should know.” Jackson nods at him and disappears into the chapel. 

Stiles wraps his arms around his knees and tilts his face up to the sky. He sits there for a long, long time, until he finally feels as though he is at peace, and the wind around him as coalesced into a soft whisper: 

_He loves you. You are not alone._

# 

After the piñata, Derek is forced to participate in a beanbag toss, and then a dance of “Cotton-eye Joe,” and then a game of “Pin the Dick on the Derek” that Cora wins, creepily enough. Lydia pulls him from one activity to the next, and every time he tries to make an excuse the music swells or someone shrieks and his pleas go unheard. 

It’s almost forty-five minutes after Stiles leaves that Derek finally manages to break away from the group. The cell phone reception in the barn is terrible, so he doesn’t even think his texts to Stiles are going through, and he feels like absolute shit every time he thinks about Stiles leaving. Derek has to find him. 

“Where are you going?” Someone snags his sleeve just as he starts pushing open the door. It’s Lydia, of course, looking hurt at the sight of Derek sneaking out. 

“Stiles left. I want to make sure he’s okay.” 

“I’ll come with you.” 

“No! No, just enjoy the party.” 

“Derek.” Lydia crosses her arms and scowls. “You didn’t kiss me.” 

Derek groans inwardly. “I’m not going to kiss someone on a bet, Lyd.” 

She brightens. “You’re right. I’m sorry, that was awkward.” She steps closer to him. “But nobody’s looking now,” she says softly. “There’s no bet anymore.” 

Derek swallows. “Lydia…” 

“I like you, Derek. I like you a lot.” 

“I know. But, look, you’ve been with a lot of guys…” 

“ _That’s_ what upsets you?” Lydia tosses her head. “Look, I don’t beg people. I’m one of the top students in the year, I do bridal boutique modeling, and last year I had more charitable hours in honor society than anyone else. I’m a catch, okay? So if you think I’m gross because I like sex, you can go fuck yourself. Seriously. If I was a guy, my history would only add to my allure, and you know it.” 

“Okay. You’re right. I didn’t mean it like that.” Derek glances over his shoulder, trying to figure out the best way to extract himself from this conversation. 

“I like sex,” Lydia repeats. “I’d like to have it with you. I’d like more than that with you. You’re amazing, Derek.” 

Derek flushes under the praise. “I’m not.” 

“You are. You think I haven’t noticed the way you take care of Cora? How brilliant you are?” Lydia runs her finger up Derek’s arm. “I want you,” she says. 

_I want you,_ Stiles had said earlier that evening. 

Derek steps away. This isn’t the time to beat Lydia off with a stick; he has to get to Stiles. “Look,” he says. “You’re amazing too, Lyd. Right now I have to find Stiles. Can we finish this conversation later?” 

Lydia’s face is inscrutable as she nods. “Okay,” she says as Derek slips out the barn door. “I’ll be waiting.” 

# 

Derek finds Stiles not five minutes later, pressed up against the outside wall to the chapel. His eyes are closed as though he might be praying. 

“Stiles?” 

Stiles cracks an eye open. “What are you doing here?” 

“I needed to find you.” Derek sits next to him. “Why are you sitting out here all alone?” 

“I needed some peace and quiet.” 

Derek takes his hand. “I’m sorry about what happened in there.” 

“You kissed her.” 

“Not on the lips.” 

Stiles gives him a disbelieving look. 

“But I should have said no altogether. I’m sorry.” 

Stiles just nods. 

“It was an amazing party,” Derek tries. “Thank you so much for putting it together.” 

“Well, you deserved it.” 

“I don’t always deserve you,” Derek says quietly. “I know that.” 

Stiles rests his head on his shoulder, and they’re secluded enough that Derek lets him. “I want to make stupid cock jokes with you in front of everyone,” Stiles tells him. “I want to dare you to kiss me, and have everyone chant at you until you do.” 

Derek laughs. “Yeah, that would really be living the dream.” He strokes Stiles’s hair and kisses the top of his head. After a few minutes he whispers, “Can we go to our room now?” 

Stiles sits up. “What about the party?” 

Derek shrugs. “They can clean up. You did enough work.” 

“They all came to celebrate with you…” 

“I know. But I only want you.” 

Stiles kisses him lightly and they stand. A breeze blows out of nowhere, making them press together in the sudden cold. 

“God, it’s creepy out here,” Derek mutters as they start walking back to the dorms together. “I don’t know how you could stand being alone.” 

Stiles glances over his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “I wasn’t, really.” 

They slip into the dorms together, holding hands. Meanwhile, in the barn, the party rages on, loud and bright and empty of meaning, celebrating a boy who isn’t there.

********

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation between Jackson and Stiles is based on one of my favorite bare songs, “Are You There.” Here’s the link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrVdiZb0T78  
> NEXT UP: Derek and Stiles celebrate Derek’s birthday, but a surprise birthday guest changes everything.


	7. Here to Damn You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day?! What can I say, I’m a giver.  
> This chapter has a heavy dose of sexual content, and it’s the kickoff to a multi-chapter arc involving internal (and external) homophobia. For that reason, I’m going to start putting detailed trigger warnings at the end of each chapter. Hop down there if you want to know what’s coming!

On the morning of his birthday Derek swims to consciousness on a current of bright, excruciating pleasure. He moans before he even opens his eyes; arches his back in reflex. There’s a warm, wet pressure around his dick, sucking in sweet pulls, tickling his slit. He opens his eyes to see Stiles crouched at the foot of the bed, waking Derek with a birthday blowjob. 

“Oh, fuck, baby,” Derek gasps. Stiles holds up one finger and laps his tongue up Derek’s shaft. Derek lets his head falls back as another jolt of pleasure shoots up his stomach. He’s not wearing a t-shirt, so he stuffs the corner of his pillow into his mouth, moaning around the cloth until he thinks he may choke. Stiles sucks him all the way to orgasm and swallows every drop. 

“Happy birthday, baby,” Stiles says, climbing up the bed to kiss Derek. He tastes like Derek’s cum and Derek kisses him hard, prying open his mouth with his tongue so he can chase the taste. 

“That was the best birthday present I could have asked for.” 

“Well, stay excited, because we’re just getting started.” Stiles hops off the bed. He’s wearing ridiculous briefs patterned with Marvel characters, which wink at Derek as Stiles sinks to his knees and pulls two wrapped presents out from under his own bed. “One silly, one real,” he says to Derek, handing them both over. “Enjoy.” 

Derek opens the “silly” present first. Every birthday, Christmas, and even Valentine’s day Stiles gives him some sort of child’s toy, to replace what Derek and Cora lost in the fire. Derek has the entire collection hidden under his bed: Bop-It, Transformer action figures, and even Hungry Hungry Hippos, which they had once played for four hours straight on a snow day. 

Derek laughs when he rips off the wrapping paper and sees what’s inside. There’s a Sky Dancer toy— Derek remembers how much Mia had loved her Sky Dancer before the fire— and a heart-patterned Furby, which already seems angry at Derek, even just sitting in the box. “Stiles, _why_?” 

“We can’t keep pets in here, but I figured this was the next best thing.” Stiles reached out to stroke the top of the Furby’s head. “I love it. I’ve already named it Tony.” 

“Where did you even find this?” 

“They sell them online now. There’s an app that goes with it, but I figured we could be pretty low-maintenance.” Stiles takes it out of the box, holds it up to his cheek, and blinks innocently at Derek. “He kind of looks like me, doesn’t he?” 

The toy blinks and babbles in some incomprehensible language. 

“Great,” Derek says. “Our pet is mentally challenged.” 

“That’s called Furbish, Der. All Furby’s start off speaking it, and we have to teach him English. It’s _kind_ of a big commitment, so I expect you to start taking it seriously.” Stiles puts the Furby back in the box, patting his head gently. 

Derek winds up the Sky Dancer and watches it careen through the room. “One of both of these things are going to kill us in our sleep.” 

“Yeah, but in your sleep is the best way to die.” Stiles pushes the other gift at him. This one is cylindrical, and Derek figures it’s a poster— Stiles’s side of the room is covered with comic book posters, and he’s been nagging Derek to decorate his own side for years. 

It is a poster— but not the sort Derek would have expected. Instead it’s the picture of Derek’s family he’s been carrying around, blown up so that Derek can make out every detail perfectly. He unravels it on the bed, drinking in every pixel, reaching out to touch his mom’s face gently. 

“I took a picture of your snapshot and found a guy on Etsy to blow it up,” Stiles says. “I hope you don’t mind. I just thought, yours is starting to get a little ratty around the corners…” 

Derek rolls it back up with the utmost care and turns to kiss Stiles just as gently. “I love it. I _love_ it. Thank you, Stiles. It’s amazing.” 

Stiles blushes. “Good. I wanted to get it laminated, but I ran out of time. I figure you can just take it to Staples, if you want.” 

“This is already the best birthday I could have asked for.” Derek cuddles Stiles close against him. Thank you.” 

“You get one more present.” 

“Really?” 

“Yepp.” Stiles twists himself so he’s sitting in Derek’s lap— Derek’s very _naked_ lap, with his dick rubbing against the meat of Stiles’s ass. “Anything.” 

“Anything?” Derek repeats. 

“That’s right. We have two hours until play rehearsal. Anything you want, you get.” Stiles throws his arm around Derek’s shoulder. “Another blow job? You want to ride me till you break me? You want to spank me and call me a pretty princess? The world is your oyster, if the world is me and the oyster is whatever you want to do with your penis.” 

Derek grins wickedly. “Anything I want, huh?” 

“That’s the deal.” 

“Should we pick a safeword?” 

“Let’s just assume the safeword is ‘no.’ Or, failing that, ‘What the fuck are you doing, you weirdo?’ ” 

“I think I can remember that.” 

Stiles laughs. “Just start, man. I’m horny as fuck already.” 

“Okay.” Derek hops off the bed and starts pacing, eyeing Stiles critically. “First, take off those ridiculous boxers.” 

Stiles complies eagerly. 

“Get on your back.” 

He does. 

“Hold out your hand.” Derek grabs the lube bottle and squirts a dollop into Stiles’s hand. “There. Now I want you to play with yourself.” 

Stiles grins at him and starts masturbating. He’s always been good at putting on a show and today he’s in top form, writing on his back and mouth open in a constant “O.” Tiny moans slip out as his cock swells and reddens under his long, nimble fingers. 

“Good,” Derek says. “Just like that.” He backs up until he’s standing at his closet, where he grabs out a towel. “Does that feel good, baby?” 

“Mm, yeah.” 

“You look so pretty touching yourself for me. How long do you think you can keep it up?” 

“Long as you want.” 

“That’s pretty ambitious.” Derek takes another few steps backwards, until he’s at the door. “Okay. I’m going to go take a shower.” 

Stiles’s eyes fly open. “What?!” 

“Stiles.” Derek gives him a disappointed look. “I didn’t tell you that you could stop.” 

Stiles sulks but resumes his ministrations. 

“I’m going to shower,” Derek repeats. “While I’m gone, I want you to keep touching yourself. Get yourself all worked up for me. But don’t you dare make yourself come. Do you think you can do that?” 

Stiles is panting. “How…long?” 

“As long as it takes for me to get clean,” Derek replies mercilessly. “Now if that little cock of yours needs a break, feel free to open yourself up for me while you’re at it. Play with that hole until it’s all puffy and hungry for my dick. But when I get back here, I expect to find you _right at the edge_. Or I’ll know you didn’t do like you were told.” 

“And what, you’ll punish me?” The idea clearly gets Stiles off, because a spurt of precum slickens his fingers at the words. 

“I’ll be a _very_ unhappy birthday boy.” Derek comes back to the bed on impulse, leans down, and gives Stiles’s cock a quick, sucking kiss. “But I’d rather reward you for being a good little birthday present.” 

“Oh, fuck, Der. Don’t take too long.” 

“I’m going to lock the door,” Derek warns as he steps away again. “Try not to be too loud.” 

“Okay, I promise. I’ll be good. Please hurry, please.” 

Derek slips out the door and locks it behind him. The heavy oak cuts off Stiles’s moans completely, he notes with satisfaction. It’s always nice to ascertain that they’re safe. 

He takes his time in the shower room. There are a few other boys who mutter a quick “happy birthday” to him and Derek’s erection swells when he thinks how they have no idea what’s waiting for Derek in his room. He nearly jerks himself to completion under the spray, but he figures it wouldn’t be fair to Stiles. Instead he cleans himself thoroughly, scrubbing the crack of his ass and the sweaty space between cock and ballsack. By the time he finishes Stiles has been alone for almost twenty minutes, and Derek can’t wait anymore. 

He knocks “Shave and a Haircut’ quickly on the door before opening it just a crack and siding in. Stiles is on the bed, still writhing. His eyes are squinched shut in pleasure-pain and he whines for Derek in a half-broken wail. 

“Look how good you were,” Derek coos, dropping his towel on the floor and shoving it in the crack between the door and tile. “Did you play with your cock like I asked, baby?” 

Stiles whimpers out a yes. 

“I can tell.” Derek stands by the bed and gently strokes sweaty hair away from Stiles’s forehead. “Did you play with your hole, too?” 

“I did so good, I promise.” 

“You are _such_ a good boy. But your cock and your hole have gotten so much attention, I think your poor little mouth must be feeling ignored.” Derek swings himself onto the bed and positions himself so he’s hanging over Stiles’s face. “Go on,” he says simply when Stiles’s eyes pop open. “Worship.” 

Stiles moans and takes the head of Derek’s cock into his mouth. He nurses at the head, flicking his tongue over the vein, then starts gently licking the shaft, just the way he did that morning. He presses his nose to Derek’s crevice, inhaling deeply, and slips tiny, reverent kisses to each ball, until Derek is the one panting. 

“You’ve got the most talented fucking mouth, baby,” Derek manages. “In fact, I think I have another use for it.” 

Stiles blinks at him, mouth stuffed full of Derek’s cock. 

“I think I want to sit on your face and have you fuck me with your tongue until I come.” 

Stiles gasps and jerks under Derek. “Oh, fuck, yes, please. But Derek, I gotta come first, I’m so close…” 

“Let’s take a look.” Derek slides off the bed again and pulls Stiles’s hands away from his dick. “Hm. It looks all right to me.” He opens one of Stiles’s drawers and pulls out the tightest pair of briefs he can find. “Let’s just put this toy away until we’re ready to play with it again, yeah?” 

Stiles almost chokes when Derek slides on the briefs and traps his dick behind the soft, tight cotton. Derek leans down to suck Stiles through the fabric, until he can taste bitter precum in his mouth. “Derek,” Stiles wails, and even though Derek loves the idea of making Stiles come in his tight little briefs and then making him stay in the soaked cotton for the rest of the day, his own cock is throbbing at the thought of Stiles stuffing his tongue up Derek’s ass. 

“When I’m ready to let you come, I’ll take these back off,” Derek tells him. “Now, are you ready to put your mouth to good use?” 

“Oh, god, yes. Now, please.” Stiles pants with arousal and excitement as Derek climbs back on the bed and positions himself over Stiles’s face. 

“Just smack me or bite if you can’t breathe,” Derek tell him before he sinks down. There’s a moment of fumbling beneath him, and then Derek feels Stiles’s tongue licking at his crack, making his way down to the tight ring of muscles at his hole. Derek moans with abandon when Stiles’s tongue presses inside of him, softer than a finger but just as powerful. They’ve never done _this_ before, only watched it together on PornHub, but Stiles is amazing. His tongue presses up and he sucks at Derek’s skin as best he can with his mouth open. Derek feels himself on the edge of an orgasm and he grabs Stiles’s hands from where they’re gripping the sheets. He wraps them around his own dick and rubs at them until Stiles gets the message and starts jerking Derek off. 

Derek reaches down and tugs the briefs down, until Stiles’s hard cock springs against his belly. He starts jerking Stiles off, head thrown back at the myriad of sensations whipping him into a frenzy. _I love you,_ he thinks wildly. _I love you I love you I love you…_

They come simultaneously, making a mess on Stiles’s stomach. Stiles’s tongue falls still inside Derek and Derek climbs off him carefully, mourning the loss of his tongue. He leans down to kiss Stiles’s mouth as gently as possible. 

“I know I’ve already said this,” Derek tells him, “but that was the best birthday present I could have ever asked for.” 

Stiles chokes out a laugh. His voice is a little wrecked; Derek hopes that it stays that way through all of rehearsal. “How many months until _my_ birthday?” 

“I feel bad,” Derek says. “I made you torture your hole for nothing.” 

“Good point. Up for another round?” 

Derek might just have taken him up on that when there’s a sudden rapping at the door. Derek freezes in horror. 

“Derek?” The voice is male and vaguely familiar. “Are you awake?” 

“Just a minute!” Derek calls frantically. Stiles hopes off his bed and finds a towel, wrapping around his waist and trying to clean up as much cum as possible. Derek pulls on boxers, jeans and a t-shirt without even looking at them. His hand is still slick with lube and cum and he squirts half a bottle of hand sanitizer on it before he finally feels safe to open the door. 

“Uncle Peter?” 

The man at the door smiles easily at Derek. “Hey, nephew.” 

“I can’t believe it.” Derek steps into his uncle’s hug, floored. Peter Hale, Talia’s brother, used to be one of Derek’s favorite people on the planet. After the fire Derek had been sure Peter would be the one to take him and Cora in, but instead Peter had moved states, explaining briefly to Derek that it was too difficult to stay where he had lost so much. Ever since Derek has only seen him once or twice a year, if that; Peter and Chris hated each other for no discernible reason. 

“How did you get here?” 

“The registrar gave me your room number. I wanted to surprise you.” Peter steps into the bedroom, glancing around casually. “I wasn’t going to let my favorite nephew turn eighteen without saying hello.” He looks at Stiles, who is purposefully facing away. Stiles and Peter had met once before, when Peter came by freshmen year, and for some reason Stiles had said he didn’t trust Peter as far as he could throw him. “Hi there.” 

“Hello,” Stiles mutters. “Sorry, I was just heading for the showers.” 

“Don’t let me hold you up.” Peter looks at the posters on the walls while Stiles fumbles for his caddy. “A superhero fan, huh?” 

“What? Oh, yeah. Not like your nephew. I keep telling Derek he should read more comic books…” Stiles pulls on his shower shoes, nearly tumbling over. 

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Peter asks Derek, ignoring Stiles. “To that lovely chapel you have here, perhaps?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“See you at rehearsal,” Stiles says, relaxing when Peter steps towards the door again. “Nice to talk to you again, Mr. Hale.” 

“Oh, we’ve met before?” Peter says disinterestedly. He’s staring at something on Derek’s side of the room, and Derek grabs his arm, desperate to get him away. 

“It’s not important,” Stiles says. “Bye, guys.” 

“See you later!” Derek calls over his shoulder. As the door swings shut behind Derek and Peter Derek sees what it was his uncle was staring at: 

A pair of boxers, covered in Marvel superheroes, standing out like sin against the stark white sheets on Derek’s bed. 

# 

Peter makes small talk all the way to the chapel and Derek tries to answer as best he can, even though his heartbeat is hard and painful in his chest. What did Peter think? Did he notice the way the sheets were rumpled? Did he smell sex in the air? How long had he been standing at the door, straining to hear what was going on inside? 

“You know, you’re very lucky,” Peter says when they reach the chapel. 

“Sorry?” 

“To have this place.” Peter gestures around at the empty pews, the beautiful stained-glass windows. “You know I’m a man of religion. I wish I had somewhere as holy as this within walking distance of my bedroom.” 

“Oh, yeah. It’s pretty nice.” Derek squeezes the back of a pew like a stress ball and forces a sickly grin. 

“That’s one of the reasons I was glad Chris Argent took you in,” Peter says. “Knowing he would send you here. It was one of the _only_ reasons I was glad.” 

Derek frowns a little, confused. “Chris is great.” 

Peter stares at the largest window, the one decorated with the Virgin Mary. “You know,” he says, “The police asked me to take you and Cora in after the fire.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes.” Peter takes a seat and Derek sits across from him awkwardly. “They knew how close we all were. I thought about it, and I brought the matter to God, and I came very close to accepting.” 

“Why didn’t you?” Derek mutters through a suddenly clogged throat. 

“I was scared. I thought I wouldn’t be able to raise you to be good, productive children of God.” Peter sighs. “There was a foundation there, though not a very strong one. Your mother was a religious woman, but it often fell by the wayside, what with so many children to deal with and everyday stressors in the way. Do you remember how we would argue about it?” 

“Not really.” 

“Well, we did. I kept asking when she would go to church again; she would tell me to worry about my own soul…” Peter chuckles, letting the sound trail off sadly. “Never really seriously, of course, but I was young and recently converted and thought I knew better than everyone.” 

“I don’t remember that at all.” 

“After the fire, I felt that my own faith had been shaken. How could I take on the raising of two young children when I myself was lost? What would you turn out to be, if I was the only role model you had?” Peter sighs. “So I gave you over to Chris Argent. I thought that he was a good Catholic, and he planned to send you to St. Cecilia’s. Your souls were safest in his hands.” 

“Well,” Derek says, feeling a little bewildered at the path of this conversation, “I think we’ve turned out okay.” 

Peter stares at him until Derek has to drop his gaze to the ground. “I hope so, Derek,” Peter says quietly. “I hope so.” 

Derek swallows. “How long are you in town?” 

“Not long. I’d like to be back at the train station within the hour.” Peter reaches into his coat and pulls out a manila envelope. “But I wanted to give you your birthday present.” 

Derek opens the envelope and tilts it. Pictures spill into his waiting hand and he gasps when he sees the subjects. They’re pictures of his family, more than he’s seen since the fire. There’s his mother. Mia. Aaron. Jesse. Derek feels tears sting his eyes at the sight. 

“I kept those, selfishly, for far too long.” Peter leans in and plucks out a single snapshot of Talia. “Your mother,” he says. “My sister. I loved her so much.” 

“So did I,” Derek manages. 

“She was such a good woman. I was so angry at God, for so long, for taking her, and all those innocent children.” Peter traces over Talia’s face with his finger. “It wasn’t fair.” 

“No. It wasn’t.” 

“My only consolation was in knowing that she was welcomed into the kingdom of Heaven with her family, where she waits for the rest of us.” Peter reaches out and places one hand on Derek’s shoulder. It rests there heavily, like a warning. “Your mother is in Heaven, Derek,” Peter says quietly, seizing Derek’s eyes with his own. “It would be a shame if something prevented you from seeing her there.” 

Derek feels the air squeezing from his lungs. “Uncle Peter,” he whispers. 

“You don’t need to say anything.” Peter squeezes his shoulder. “But I’ve made myself clear?” 

Derek only stares at him. 

“I have faith in you, Derek. You saved yourself from the fire once before. You can do it again.” 

Derek turns to stone. 

“I have to catch my train,” Peter says, standing. “You’ll give Cora my best?” 

“Yes,” Derek whispers. 

“Good.” Peter claps Derek on the shoulder again. “You have my email. Please message me whenever you need to talk.” 

“All right.” 

“I’ll pray for you,” Peter says. He strides off towards the back of the chapel, letting the doors swing shut behind him. 

Derek sits in the pew with the photos of his dead family in his hand, staring up at the stained-glass window until the Virgin Mother shimmers before his eyes into an avenging angel with his mother’s face. 

_Man shall not lie with man, it is an abomination._

 _No homosexual shall be welcomed into the kingdom of Heaven._

 _

My son Derek is an abomination; he shall not be welcomed into the kingdom of Heaven. 

_

Derek imagines his mother watching him, mourning his soul. He imagines his family reunited in Heaven, the children wondering where Derek is, asking for their big brother. The entire family together again, while his soul languishes in Hell. 

Alone. 

_You saved yourself from the fire before._

Holy Mary, mother of God. Pray for us sinners… 

Derek sinks onto his knees while the hellfire in his blood simmers down into a cold, clenching despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DETAILED WARNING: Derek and Stiles have some birthday sex, which involves oral sex, cock worship, mutual masturbation, face-sitting, orgasm denial, and a lot of dirty talk.  
> Shortly thereafter Derek’s Uncle Peter arrives and catches them in the act. He takes Derek to the chapel and basically tells Derek that if Derek doesn’t change his ways he will be consigned to Hell and will never be able to see his family again. This leaves Derek horrified, scared, and ashamed.  
> Fucking Peter, am I right.
> 
> #
> 
> NEXT UP: Stiles makes Derek a proposition, and Derek is finally ready to give a certain somebody what they want.


	8. One Tomorrow, Make Me Promise, God You Have Such Pretty Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some pretty trigger-y stuff in here, so please jump down to the end notes if you're at all concerned.

Derek doesn’t make it to rehearsal until they are two hours underway and Sister Marin is ready to send out a search party. He stumbles through the back doors, eyes unfocused, barely responding to Sister Marin’s questions. 

“We’re running the fight scene,” she finally snaps. “Get into place with Jackson, Scott, and Stiles. And move it, Derek. You’ve put us massively behind.” 

“And happy birthday!” someone tries, but Derek doesn’t even look their way. 

Stiles gets into position with Scott and they run the first chunk of the scene while Derek waits in the wings. Jackson swaggers on as Tybalt. “Mercutio, thou consort’st with Romeo.” 

“Consort’st?” Stiles laughs. “What, dost thou make us minstrels?” 

“Angrier, Stiles,” Sister Marin calls. “He’s insulting you. He’s saying you and Romeo are homosexuals. That’s a big deal for these guys.” 

There’s a sudden choking fit from offstage. 

“Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze,” Jackson continues. “I will not budge for no man’s pleasure.” 

Derek stumbles onstage, missing his mark. Jackson does a three-point turn to face him awkwardly and Sister Marin sighs. “Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford no better term than this: thou art a villain.” 

“T-Tybalt, the reason I have to love thee…does much excuse…” Derek fades off and Sister Marin has to prompt him. Stiles frowns— Derek knows these lines forward and back. 

“Villain I am _none_ , farewell,” Derek continues, his voice cracking. “I see thou knowst me not.” 

They keep stumbling through the scene until Stiles finally gets to die. They reach Stiles’s favorite set of lines: “Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up,” Derek appeals to him as Stiles leaps forward. 

“Come, sir, your _passado_ ,” Stiles says to Jackson. He and Derek had been greatly amused when they learned _passado_ meant “forward thrust,” which, combined with Derek’s last line, had given the scene a certain salacious twist. Stiles steps forward, pretending to raise a sword, and he hops back and forth with Jackson for a few minutes. Finally Jackson pretends to stick a fake sword in Stiles’s side and Stiles dies as dramatically as possible. “I was hurt under your arm!” he cries to Derek, falling into his arms with a moan. 

Derek stares at him for a moment, then gently sets him up back on his feet. “I’m sorry,” he says to Sister Marin. “I really need to look these lines over. Can we move on?” 

“Hmm, let me think.” Sister Marin rises to her feet thunderously. “We waited two hours for you to sleep off what I can only assume was a hangover, and now you’d like us to put off one of the most technically difficult scenes in the play so you can look over lines that were supposed to be off-book a week ago? I don’t know, Derek. This is a tricky one. A thousand monkeys typing on a thousand typewriters for a thousand years might not be able to come up with the reasoning I need to make this decision.” 

“Oh, boy,” Scott mutters. It’s the first Director-Sister Marin Meltdown. Each show earns about three, and they’re downright amazing in their scope and creativity. Stiles never thought it would be Derek who triggered the very first one of the season. 

“I can do any of the scenes with Juliet. I know those.” 

Sister Marin glares him down for a solid twenty seconds. “Act Three, Scenes Four and Five,” she announces at last, voice impressively frosty. “Derek, when you come on that stage I expect to hear every line perfectly. If you’re not in those two scenes, sit in the audience and look over your lines. I don’t expect to hear a _word_ out of you.” 

Stiles and Scott escape the stage and take seats. They’ve come prepared for this rehearsal; Stiles’s bag is packed with comic books and he hands one over to Scott. Derek disappears offstage, but Stiles can just see him, standing completely still, staring out at the stage expressionlessly while the actors in Scene Three begin to run their lines. Frowning, Stiles takes out his phone. 

_Stiles: 2:13: Are you ok?_

Stiles watches Derek for several moments before a reply finally comes: 

_Derek: 2:16: I’m fine._

 _Stiles: 2:17: What did your uncle want?_

 _

Derek: 2:19: He couldn’t stay long. He just wanted to say hi. 

Stiles: 2:20: When is your dad coming to pick you up? 

Derek: 2:21: Not until tomorrow. 

Stiles: 2:21: Damn, too bad I’m leaving tonight. we could have continued this morning’s present ;) 

_

Derek looks at his phone but doesn’t reply, making Stiles snicker to himself. He’s tried to initiate a good sexting session at nearly every rehearsal, but Derek is extremely resistant to public boners, so he always cuts Stiles off at the head. On stage Erica— who really _is_ hung over from last night— is currently getting reamed out by Sister Marin. 

_Stiles: 2:28: Can we talk after rehearsal?_

 _Derek: 2:30: ok_

 _

Stiles: 2:30: One of the practice rooms?

_ He needs to make it clear that he isn’t angling for sex. This conversation can’t turn into a rip-and-tumble; it’s too important for that. 

_Derek: 2:32: sure._

 _Stiles: 2:32: Thanks. Now study your lines before sister has a coronary._

 _

Derek: 2:25: Stiles? 

Stiles: 2:25: ? 

Derek: 2:27: Say it again. 

Stiles: 2:27: I love you.

_

Stiles watches as Derek just stares down at his phone until Sister Marin calls him on stage. He doesn’t text back “thanks” like he usually does. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Or maybe…maybe he’s almost ready to say it back. 

Did Derek come out to his uncle? Is that why he seems so distracted? 

Stiles thinks about the way Derek looked at him this morning; the way each kiss became a caress. He remembers the way Derek pulled him close before they fell asleep last night, his arms possessive and gentle at the same time. 

Stiles orders himself not to read anything into it. But in his belly there’s an unstoppable fluttering, soft and sweet: the unmistakable urgings of hope. 

# 

Derek doesn’t remember a thing that happens during rehearsal. He fucks up nearly every scene, he knows that much— it’s probably the best day of Jackson’s life for that reason— and he nearly collapses in relief when Sister Marin calls time twenty minutes early. 

“You all have some serious work to do over break,” she admonishes as the students gather up their things. “And I have some serious _praying_ to do. Now get out of here.” 

There’s a tap on Derek’s arm. “Hey,” Stiles says. “Practice room three?” 

“Sure.” 

Derek watches Stiles walk in front of him. The smooth lines of his body are more familiar to Derek than Derek’s own, as perfectly formed as a musical chord. His backpack is half open and Derek can see his comic books poking out, jumping with each step. Derek knows that if Stiles was facing him Derek would see a resting half-smirk and partially hooded, wholly alive brown eyes. Every part of Stiles is so totally possessed, so completely _known_ , and Derek loves every piece of him. There's no denying it. 

The practice rooms are completely soundproofed and Stiles shuts the door carefully, sealing them in. “Hey,” he says, slinging his backpack off and throwing it to the ground. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m fine.” Derek doesn’t try to force a smile; that would be a tip-off. “What did you want to talk about?” 

Stiles wrings his hands nervously. “What are your plans for fall break?” 

Derek shrugs. “Studying my lines and helping my dad campaign, mostly.” 

“Do you…do you think you could come over and spend a few days with me? Or even just come home with me tonight?” 

Derek frowns. “What? Why?” 

“Because.” Stiles takes a deep breath and grabs Derek’s hands. “I want to tell my dad about us. And I need you there when I do it.” 

“No.” Derek drops Stiles’s hands and moves backwards. “Stiles, fuck, _no_. What are you thinking?” 

“Derek, it’s not a big deal—” 

“Not a big deal?” Derek rubs at his eyes until he sees stars. When Stiles tries to move close to him again he shoves him off, too roughly. “Your dad will immediately call _my_ dad, who will beat the shit out of me as soon as he sees me again— ” 

“Derek, I know your dad, your dad would never hit you—” 

“And then they’ll immediately call Father, and, and, everyone will know about it…oh, God, _Cora_ will know, Allison will know, fucking, fucking _Jackson_ will know and then we can’t go _back_ , Stiles. Do you get that? We can’t decide to stop, ever, because _we will be gay_.” 

“We are gay, Derek!” Stiles puts both hands on Derek’s shoulders and hushes him, as if _Derek_ is the one being irrational. “We are two boys who are in love with each other. We’re gay. And it’s time for us to be honest about that, because there’s nothing wrong with it.” 

Derek covers his face with his hands again. “Please stop,” he gasps. “Why are you doing this to me?” 

“We don’t need to ever worry about going back, Derek. We won’t have to.” Stiles pulls away Derek’s hands and cups his face. “We can have forever. College together, marriage, children…it’s not impossible for people like us anymore. And I want that with you. Don’t you want it with me?” 

Derek stares at him and feels his heart crack right down the middle. In between the pieces he tests a thin rope of resolve. What if they did it? What if Derek told his dad? 

He will probably be pulled from St. Cecilia’s. 

He will likely be disowned by his father. 

The small bit of money inherited from his family is held in trust by Chris, and Chris is a powerful man. He can find a way to withhold it. He would be doing it for Talia. Surely she wouldn’t have wanted her money going to support a homosexual lifestyle. Cora will deserve it all. And Cora has no reason to help Derek. She can use the money for more reconstructive surgery. It's been her dream for years. 

There’s a college fund in his bank account he doesn't think Chris can touch, but it won’t cover all four years plus graduate school. Derek will need to find a job. Roofing, maybe? Working fast food won’t cover expenses. Whatever he picks will probably be where he stays forever. He knows the statistics. If he waits to go to college, it’s doubtful he will ever return to school. 

And the Church, the deep peace Derek has always felt there... that too will be gone. Because Derek accepted this morning that, if he chooses Stiles, he will be lost to religion. There will be no Heaven, no warm embrace of the Father, no reunion with his family after death. 

But he will have Stiles. 

If Stiles, too, is disowned by the Sherriff then they will both have to work. There will barely be enough time to see each other, just hurried nights, sleeping together on a little cot in some cheap apartment. Kids? Without college degrees they won’t look attractive to any adoptive mother. 

Marriage— yes. Not fully, not in this state, but they could become partners in a civil ceremony. They couldn't hold their ceremony in a church, like Derek’s mother did; that won’t be allowed. In a courtroom, instead, with one or two people— if that— in attendance. 

And then… 

_Matthew Shepard. Harvey Milk. Gary Matson and Winfield Mowder. Jason Gage._

They will be laughed at on the street. Neighbors will turn their backs and steer their children away. God, just last year an ordinance was passed that allowed business owners to deny them service, if they wanted to. Stiles and Derek could be kicked out of restaurants together. Told to leave a store because the owner saw them holding hands and it was an insult to his Christianity. Maybe some night their window will shatter and Derek will run downstairs to find a brick in the middle of the glass with an ugly word painted on. Do people still make Molotov cocktails? Someday, will his home go up in flames again, this time purposefully? 

And then someday…someday when Derek is not there, when Stiles is alone with no one to protect him… 

_Beaten, pistol-whipped, tortured, left on a fencepost to die…_

 _Shot five times in the head at close range…_

 _

Forced to lie together on their marriage bed and shot seven times… 

Bludgeoned in the head with a bottle and stabbed in the neck with a shard of glass…

_

Derek’s phone will ring, and a police officer will say that he is sorry for Derek’s loss, but Derek will know that he does not mean it. The police will laugh when they see what has been done to the doe-eyed little homo, that pretty boy who had the audacity to ask people to call him _Mr. Hale_ like his husband. All because Derek went on a business trip, or simply stayed at work too late one night. 

Derek _knows_ that it will come. He knows it in his bones. He cannot protect Stiles from this world, not forever. 

But he can try to protect Stiles from himself. 

The rope breaks. Derek’s heart splits in two. 

“No,” he says coldly. “No, I don’t want that with you.” 

Stiles blinks at him. “Der,” he says gently. “Please.” 

“You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not gay. Fucking you was just better than using my hand. It was only ever just sex, Stiles.” 

“Gay sex,” Stiles snaps. 

“So? That doesn’t make me gay. By your logic, I’d be asexual every time I jerked off.” 

Stiles, incredibly, just rolls his eyes. “You’ll have to try better than that,” he says, steely-voiced. “I’ve been in love with you for two years. Hell, _longer_. I know that you love me. And I know you’re scared…” 

“But what?” Derek twists his voice mockingly. “We don’t need to be scared as long as we have each other? I’m your superhero? Go on, say that you _love_ me again, maybe that will change my mind.” 

Stiles flinches. “Der, stop.” 

“You’re not coming out. We’re just going to pretend this conversation never happened. But whatever we’ve been doing…that’s over.” 

“Fuck you, Derek. _Fuck_ you. I’m telling my dad, whether you like it or not.” 

“You’re so _fucking_ naïve, Stiles!” Derek’s voice cracks against the air. “This world you’ve created for us doesn’t exist. Oh, it was real cute for a while, but get real. Skinny, defenseless Stiles needs his superhero _boyfriend_ to protect him, right?” 

“ _Derek._ ” 

On a blind wave of fury, Derek grabs Stiles’s backpack and pulls out his comic books. “You read these and imagine me, don’t you? Well, we aren’t like the characters in these books!” He throws one at Stiles’s feet, barely even noticing Stiles jumping back. “I’m not Superman and you’re not Lois Lane!” Another slaps the ground. “We can never be superheroes in your fantasy world.” Another. “And do you know why?” He grabs the last one, and nearly stops. He bought this for Stiles last year; signed it _from your superhero_ on the back page in tiny letters. But he has to finish; he has to draw this to its end. He throws the comic book with such force the pages rip out and it skitters all the way to where Stiles is cowering in a corner. “Because none of them are _faggots_!” 

The books he threw at the ground, but that last word he hurls at Stiles, and he watches it make contact. Stiles head flies to the side as if he has been slapped. He stands completely still, facing away from Derek, while Derek’s words ring over and over through the air. 

Stiles bends down and picks up the ruined comic book. When he straightens and faces Derek, Derek wants to rush over and hold him. He wants to curl Stiles into his arms and card his fingers through Stiles’s hair and promise to go out and destroy whoever it was who put that look on Stiles’s face. 

_You did this._

 _You had to._

Stiles doesn’t say a word as he collects the rest of his comic books. He takes his backpack from Derek’s hand and puts them inside carefully. “I’m moving out,” he says finally. 

Derek swallows past the lump in his throat. “Don’t be stupid,” he says with a final spurt of anger. “There’s nowhere for you to go.” 

“Isaac has a single. He’ll let me share. He’s not a homophobe, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” 

Derek can’t think of a response.” 

“I’m still coming out,” Stiles informs him expressionlessly. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about you. You can tell people whatever you want. Say you kicked me out after I told you. I don’t care.” 

Derek tries to respond, but there’s nothing, nothing at all he can find to say. 

“And you’re wrong, by the way.” Stiles stops by the door and looks back at Derek. “About superheroes. Northstar, Midnighter, Batwoman…all _faggots_. But it’s true that guys like me don’t get superheroes.” He stares Derek up and down, and when he looks back in Derek’s eyes there’s a deep, unrelenting sadness there. “I just get guys like you.” 

The broken remains of Derek’s heart shatter. “Stiles,” he says. 

Stiles shakes his head. “You’ll never know how much you’ve hurt me,” he says quietly. “Never.” 

Derek watches him leave. The door shuts soundly behind him, leaving Derek alone. For the second time that day Derek collapses onto his knees and stays there, lips moving soundlessly in a prayer for forgiveness that will never be heard. 

# 

The first time they slept together was just after Derek’s birthday, sophomore year. Derek had been dreaming of the fire and calling out in his sleep for his mother. Stiles climbed into bed with him, soothing him, telling him to wake up. “I’m right here, Derek,” he said, until Derek’s eyes popped open and took him in. “I’m right here.” 

“Stiles, they’re dead. They’re all dead.” 

“I know, Der. I’m so sorry.” Stiles pressed their foreheads together. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” 

Derek whimpered like a hurt animal, still half-trapped in his nightmare. “Stay,” he begged. 

I will.” Stiles pulled back the covers and slithered in next to Derek. “You’re lucky I’m a skinny little dude. These beds are tiny.” 

“I’ve got you,” Derek said, wrapping his arms tightly around Stiles’s midsection. 

“The minute you let go I’ll fall right out of bed.” 

“I won’t let go.” 

They lay awake for another hour, charged with energy at the press of their bodies. Stiles wriggled closer and closer to Derek, until he could feel a thick, solid ridge under Derek’s boxers. He’d blown Derek twice before, and they’ve exchanged handjobs, but suddenly Stiles imagined Derek pounding into him, chasing away their mutual demons in the dark. “Do you want me to take care of that?” he asked shyly. 

Derek was quiet for a minute. “There’s lube under the bed.” 

“How do you want it?” 

“I want to be inside you,” Derek said. 

Stiles choked. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes. Please. If you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready. I’m so fucking ready.” 

“I’ll have to…I mean, you need to be, um, stretched out if you’re going to take me.” 

“I know.” Stiles paused. “I’ve been…opening myself up when you aren’t here. Thinking about you.” 

Derek had his hand down Stiles’s sweatpants in a second. “You don’t wear boxers to bed?” 

“No.” Stiles arched. “Oh, God, just like that.” 

“Leave Him out of this, please.” Derek kissed the back of Stiles’s neck. “Just tell me if you need me to stop.” 

Stiles never did. They came together, and it was painful, and awkward, and filled with a terrific amount of fumbling. By the end of it Stiles had soaked the pillow with tears and there was a wet mess on his ass and thighs. Derek was wondering aloud if the nurse knew how to fix a broken penis. Stiles kept touching his ass to make sure he wasn’t bleeding. 

It was the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

“We probably shouldn’t do that again,” Derek whispered. 

“I think we probably will.” 

Derek laughed. “Yeah.” Derek scooted all the way to the wall and wrapped his arms around Stiles again. “Do you think you can sleep now?” 

“You don’t have to hold me. There’s enough room with you against the wall. I won’t fall out.” 

“I know.” Derek shuddered out a breath, fluttering Stiles’s hair. “I just want to make sure you’re still here when I wake up.” 

Stiles rested his head against Derek's chest. "Trust me," he said. "You don't need to hold me to make me stay." 

# 

Stiles has already cleared the room out by the time Derek returns. The posters are off the wall; the bed stripped of its sheets. Derek’s birthday presents are sitting neatly on his bed. Derek picks up Tony the Furby. It opens its eyes and just stares at Derek distrustfully. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek tells it. “I have no idea what you want.” 

It babbles in Furbish. 

“Stiles should have kept you.” 

It babbles some more, but now Derek makes out the word “Stiles.” 

Derek takes out its batteries. 

When there’s a firm, polite knock at the door, Derek’s heart leaps. _Stiles,_ he thinks, but even as he turns he knows it can’t be. It wasn’t “Shave and a Haircut.” And, honestly, he knew in his heart who it would be; he’s known for a long time who he would be seeing tonight. 

Lydia smiles at him from the doorway. “Trick or treat,” she says. 

“Hey, Lydia.” 

“Leaving soon?” 

“Not until tomorrow.” 

She nods. “Same. Can I come in?” 

“Okay.” 

She steps inside and closes the door. “So, what was up with you in rehearsal today?” 

“I don’t know. I was just a little distracted.” 

She nods and sits on Stiles’s bed, evidently not noticing that all signs of Stiles are gone from the room. 

“So what are you doing here?” Derek asks. He doesn’t want any more bullshit. There’s a thrumming under his skin, a deep desire to just have this done with. 

“I had a fight with Cora.” 

“Is that a surprise?” 

“This one was.” Lydia sighs. “She told me to stop throwing myself at you. She said I was embarrassing myself.” 

Derek sinks onto his own bed. “Oh.” 

Lydia stares him down. “Guys don’t normally say no to me, Derek. I liked a challenge. But I think this has gone on long enough, so I’m laying down my cards. If you don’t want me, just say so, and it’s over. I promise. I won’t be mad, or hurt. I’m a big girl.” 

Derek just stares at her, caught. 

Lydia nods. “Okay,” she says softly. “I’ll go.” She hops off Stiles’s bed and heads for the door. 

Derek grabs her hand. “Wait,” he says. 

She turns. 

_I don’t want this._

 _I have to do this._

“Stay,” he says. 

She smiles. 

_Cleanse yourself._

“We’ve been playing this game for a long time,” Derek says. 

She steps up to his embrace. Her schoolgirl skirt tickles his legs. “You’re a good player,” she says. “I think you’ve earned your prize.” 

Their lips come together. Hers are thinner than Stiles’s and her tongue flutters against his teeth awkwardly. It doesn’t feel right, so he tries to find something that does. His hand creeps up her leg and into her skirt. 

“You aren’t wearing…” 

She grabs his hand and guides it where she wants it. “I was feeling optimistic,” she admits. 

“Lydia…don’t you want to…I don’t know, go on a date, or something, first?” 

“We’ve been on a thousand dates. Raves, rehearsals, hangouts…” She slides her hands inside his shirt. “We’ve known each other for so long. I’ve wanted you for years…I promised myself I wouldn’t let you graduate without trying, Cora be damned. I don’t need to date you, Derek. I already know how I feel.” She smiles at him again when he just stares at her in shock. “Go on, baby. Touch me.” 

He explores, and she unbuttons his pants. He’s jumpy under her hands, as though his body is rejecting her touch. He’s gone so long without this; he is conditioned to something else. He wants Stiles so bad he aches. 

_Man shall not lie with man as he would with woman, it is an abomination._

He pulls her onto the bed and takes her skirt all the way down. 

_Lie with woman._

“Yes,” she whispers against his skin. “Yes, please, Derek, I want you inside of me, please.” 

_I will lie with a woman._

 _I will lie._

He sinks into her. Her skin parts for him, so easily. It’s different from what he is used to; from what he _wants_. He thrusts, trying to find the right pressure. He’s barely hard. 

_Stiles. Stiles. Stiles_

Stiles’s soft pleading moans and Lydia’s breathy cries. For a moment he hears them both, and then he only hears Stiles. He focuses on Lydia’s face. Her eyes, God, they look like Stiles’s. He stares into them and pretends he is looking at Stiles, and he swells inside of her until she is keening for him and _God doesn’t she know the rules; doesn’t she know how to be quiet?_

“Derek, Derek…” 

He feels himself about to come and he bites the hem of his shirt before he remembers that he does not need to keep silent. It is good, now, to be loud. He needs everyone on the floor to hear, so they will know that Derek Hale is not like his roommate. 

“Lydia,” he moans. 

“Derek, I love you…” 

Did she say that, or is he hearing Stiles? He closes his eyes and feels himself release into her. “I love you, too,” he says, staring into those perfect brown eyes. “Oh, God. I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DETAILED WARNING: Derek, still shattered from his conversation with Peter, reacts poorly to Stiles's suggestion that they come out together. He thinks about the current climate for gay couples and thinks about the real-life victims of hate crimes, including the violent ways they were killed. As he imagines what their life together would be like he thinks the absolute worst of the world and the people he loves, until he has convinced himself that he will be completely isolated and will put Stiles at risk if they come out together. He shoves Stiles, throws items at Stiles (they don't hit him and are aimed at the floor, but it's still pretty violent) and calls Stiles a faggot. Stiles immediately breaks up with Derek. In the next scene, Derek and Lydia have sex.  
> Basically, Derek is an unforgivable asshole because fear makes people do crazy things and if there's one thing Derek knows how to feel, it's fear.
> 
> #
> 
>  
> 
> Well, THIS got darker than any fan fiction has a right to be, huh? I'm sorry about how angsty this angst got. I promise the next few chapters will be FAR less angsty if you're willing to stick around
> 
>  
> 
> NEXT UP: Stiles comes out, and Derek has regrets.


	9. Silence Seemed the Only Way, But Now I Understand Its Cost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, your comments! I love you all so much <3

The best day of Stiles Stilinksi’s life was the day he was five and had his tonsils taken out. He had suffered sore throats for as long as he could remember, and his mother promised that after the surgery his throat wouldn’t hurt anymore. Then she promised to take him to Friendly’s for ice cream as many days as he wanted after it was over, since solid food would hurt his mouth too much. 

After the surgery finished Stiles remembered his dad carrying him back to the car and calling him “Champ,” with one hand cradling the back of his head. For the entire ride home his mom told a sleepy, drugged-up Stiles about the defeat of the evil Tonsillitis by brave Dr. Maria and her sidekick, Nurse Alexis. His dad took the day off of work and they made a pillow fort in the living room, where they watched Spider-Man and Incredible Hulk cartoons. Just before bed, after Stiles took another dose of painkillers, he started to cry. “Everyone else has tonsils,” he slurred to his parents. “You won’t love me anymore now that I’m different.” 

His parents tried to comfort him, even as they held back their laughter at the loopy kid crying and drooling all over himself. His mom cuddled him close. “Bean,” she said, “Daddy and I don’t love you for your tonsils, or your hair, or even your cute little nose. When I look at you, I don’t see those things. I just see _you_. You’re one-hundred-percent Genim Stilinski, even without tonsils.” 

Stiles sniffled “Really?” 

“Really. If you’re in a group of ten people and you’re the only one without tonsils, who cares? You’re also the only Genim Stilinski there. That’s the most important thing.” 

“Never, ever, ever think we could stop loving you,” his dad added, scooping Stiles back into his arms to carry him upstairs. “You’re our favorite person in the whole wide world.” 

Now Stiles stares at himself in his bedroom mirror. “One hundred percent Stiles,” he says aloud, his own version of a locker-room talk. “Nothing can change that.” 

He looks down at the picture of his mom he’s stuck inside his mirror frame. She’s laughing at the camera, pregnant with Stiles, young and whole and cancer-free. He plucks it out. “Mom,” he says to her, “I’m gay.” 

It’s amazing how good it feels. 

“I mean, you probably already knew. Don’t think I haven’t felt you popping in on me.” He grins back at her. “I’m kind of scared to tell Dad, though. It’s a bombshell, and you know Dad. He shut himself up in his room for like three weeks after you died, and then he never said your name again. He’s not great with emotions. I wish you were here.” 

If life were a movie a butterfly would come in through the window and light on his hand or something, but instead Stiles just stands there with the picture for another minute before he says, “Good talk,” and sticks the picture back in its spot. 

From downstairs he hears the door open and close. “I’m home!” his dad calls. “Why is there tofu thawing on the counter? I bought steak!” 

“Here goes,” Stiles whispers. He blows his mom a kiss for luck and walks downstairs. 

The Sherriff is doing a perimeter sweep of the tofu. Stiles swears he has one hand resting on his gun, ready to blow the offending package away. “Stiles,” he says, “I bought _steak_. When did you even have time to buy this?” 

“I did it this morning, after I checked the freezer. Nice try on making me think you’re eating healthy, by the way. I saw that none of those bags of frozen vegetables are open.” 

The Sherriff winces. “I knew I missed a step.” 

“Can we talk?” Stiles tries to keep his voice casual, but his dad stiffens instantly. 

“Okay.” John assesses Stiles carefully. “Is this a living-room talk?” 

“I think so, yeah.” The living room is where all the important conversations happen. Where Stiles found out about his mom’s cancer. Where his parents told him he was going to be a boarding student at St. Cecilia’s. Where Stiles showed his Dad his failing grade in Religion II. It’s gotten to the point where Stiles avoids the room for any other reason, it holds so many bad memories. 

They walk into the living room together. John sits on his recliner and Stiles takes the sofa, already wringing his hands. “What is it, buddy?” John asks, hand unconsciously straying to his holster again, already prepared to protect his son from whatever threat has Stiles so worked up. 

_Never, ever, ever think we could stop loving you_. 

“I need to tell you something,” Stiles starts. “And it might be hard, but I want to ask that you don’t say anything until I’m done. You just need to listen, and hear what I’m saying. And…just be my dad, and my friend. Okay?” 

The Sherriff nods. 

“Dad.” Stiles feels tears gathering up on the inside of his eyes. “I love you so much. And dad…I’m gay.” 

The Sherriff exhales. 

“I’ve known for a long time, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I know it might be hard to accept this, but I can’t change, and I don’t want to. Trying to hide it has made me miserable. You’re the person who taught me how to be brave, and this is the bravest thing I can think to do. I just…I hope that, no matter what, you’ll see that I’m still your son, and I love you, so much.” Tears run unchecked down Stiles’s face. He bows his head like a penitent, waiting for his father’s judgment. 

John leaves his recliner and comes to sit next to Stiles, pulling him into a fierce hug. “Don’t cry,” he orders roughly, choking back his own tears. “There isn’t a thing to cry about. You’re already so much braver than I ever could have imagined.” He rocks his son while Stiles sobs in his arms. “I love you, Genim. You are the finest son a father could ask for. I’m just sorry…that I ever made you think you couldn’t tell me…” John chokes off and just holds Stiles. Stiles wraps his own arms around his father and they hold on as if they will never let go. 

“You don’t ever have to change,” John tells him eventually. “My boy doesn’t need to live a lie. You be proud of who you are, because I’m proud as hell of you right now.” 

“Thank you, dad.” Stiles wipes at his face. “ _Thank you._ You’re the first person I’ve told. You can’t imagine how much it means to me that you aren’t upset.” 

“I love you, son. I’m going to do everything I can to make things easier for you.” He pulls away, features already settling into his game face. “Do you want to leave St. Cecilia’s? We can find a public school for you, no problem.” 

“No, dad. I want to stay.” 

“Do you want me to talk to Father Jeff? I don’t want any of those kids thinking they can get away with something just because you’re at Catholic school.” 

Stiles almost laughs. This is exactly what he should have expected from his dad: five minutes of emotion, followed by a detailed plan of attack. _Attention all units: We are now Operation Stiles Comes Out_. “I think I can handle the other kids. Hopefully once I tell my friends, they’ll kind of look out for me…” 

“Yeah, that’s good.” John points his finger at Stiles. “You tell Derek he has my permission to beat up anyone who messes with you.” 

Stiles winces. “Will do.” 

“Stiles?” John’s brow furrows in embarrassment. “Is there…a guy? A boyfriend? Because I’d want to meet him.” 

Stiles laughs. “No, dad. There’s no one.” 

John nods. “Well, one day, when there is…” He pulls Stiles into another hug. “You just make sure he deserves you.” 

“Thanks, Dad.” 

“And Stiles?” Stiles can hear his father choking up. “Your mother would be so…damn… _proud_ of you right now.” 

Stiles starts crying again. 

“I kind of think she always knew,” John adds. 

“I think she’d be proud of both of us,” Stiles says. 

They end up eating steak that night. Stiles figures his father has earned it. 

# 

Later, once the Sherriff has departed for the night shift, Stiles pulls out his phone and sits on his bed. In some ways, this call is even harder than telling the Sherriff. After all, John almost _has_ to love Stiles no matter what. This person has no such obligation. 

But there’s no way out but through at this point. 

Stiles dials. 

Scott picks up on the second ring. “Dude,” he says, “I forgot how frigging boring it is here.” 

“Scott,” Stiles says, “I’m gay.” 

There’s a long pause. “Wait, for real?” 

“Yeah.” Stiles sinks down to the floor. “I didn’t know how to tell you but just to say it.” 

“Huh.” Another pause. Stiles buries his head in his hands. “Wait, did you think I would be, like, _upset_ about that?” 

Stiles frowns. “I don’t know…are you?” 

“What? Of course not!” 

“Scott,” Stiles says, “I _mean_ it. I’m gay. I always will be.” He almost feels frustrated with Scott’s lack of a reaction. “I’m not the person you thought I was.” 

Stiles can hear Scott close his door. “Okay,” he says. “I’m going to get real with you. This is a one-time thing, got it?” 

“Got it.” 

“Good. Stiles, you’re my best friend. You’ve been my best friend since forever. If there wasn’t a lifetime ban in the registrar’s office of us rooming together, we’d still be roommates. Next to Allison and my mom, you’re the most important person in my life.” Scott takes a breath. “You’re still the person I thought you were, and you always will be. You’re more than my friend. You’re my brother. Okay?” 

Stiles is a mess by the time Scott finishes. “Okay,” he gasps. 

“Do I need to say that I love you now, or are we covered?” 

“You’re covered. But Scott…I love _you_. In a brotherly way. Not a gay way.” 

“Aw, buddy,” Scott says. “We’ve been naked in front of each other enough times that I know full well you’re not into me.” 

Stiles laughs. “I’d be willing to pity-fuck you if Allison keeps holding out.” 

“Wait,” Scott says. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“Are you and Hale…” 

Stiles chokes. “No! Oh my God, no. Why would you even think that?” 

Scott blows out a breath. “I don’t know. It’s always just kind of a feeling I had.” 

“You thought Derek Hale was gay?” 

“Well, I didn’t, like, muse over it late at night or anything, but sometimes he would look at you sort of sideways and I’d just think…huh.” 

Stiles swallows hard. “Well, Derek isn’t gay. In fact, I’m moving out of the room once we get back.” 

“He kicked you out?!” Scott shouts. There’s a bang from the other end of the phone line, and Stiles knows that Scott probably just fell out of his bed. “That _fucker_. Stiles, I’m not letting him get away with this.” 

“No! No, calm down.” Stiles sighs. A part of him wants to throw Derek under the bus, but that wouldn’t be fair. “He doesn’t even know. He’s just so busy with all his stuff, and I don’t want to stress him out with all my upcoming drama.” 

“So you’re telling everyone?” 

“Yeah. I’m going to call Isaac next, since I want to see if he’ll let me move in with him. Then I figure I’ll just tell a few people once we get back and let the rumor mill take care of it.” 

“Okay,” Scott says. “That should work. Isaac’s cool, I don’t think you’ll have a problem.” 

“And after that, I’ll just hope that nobody beats me up.” 

“Nobody is going to beat you up,” Scott promises. “I’ll make sure of it. Don’t worry, man. We got this.” 

“We got this,” Stiles repeats. When his jaw aches, he has to reach up to realize that he’s grinning so wide his face may split in two. 

# 

Chris Argent wins the election by a five percent margin. At the victory party he pulls both Derek and Cora into the family photos, though Cora tries to wriggle out each time, or, failing that, at least swing her hair all the way in front of her face. 

“When did we become part of the family?” Cora mutters to Derek during a down moment. 

“When he made ‘family values’ his platform,” Derek replies, and immediately feels bad about it. Chris is being incredibly kind tonight. He introduces Derek to everyone as “my son,” and he keeps bragging to people about Derek’s perfect 4.0, his basketball record, his service awards. He looks at Derek like Derek is really something to be proud of. 

If only Derek didn’t feel like such complete and utter shit. 

When they finally get back to the house, Derek crawls into bed. Break flew by; he spent the entire time helping Chris campaign, from eight in the morning until eleven at night. He’s tried not to give what happened with Stiles and Lydia a second thought, but it’s been almost impossible what with Lydia texting him every day. 

He hasn’t responded. 

He feels like shit about that, too. 

He picks up his phone and sees two messages waiting. 

_Lydia: 7:35: Derek, I’m so confused. Why are you ignoring me? I know that what happened meant something, so what is going on? Please respond._

 _Stiles: 8:45: I just thought you should be prepared. I came out to my dad, scott, and isaac. They were all fine with it. It feels amazing. I’m planning on coming out to the rest of the school on monday._

 _

What you did to me wasn’t okay. But I will keep your secret. And if you ever want to talk…you still have my number.

_

Derek stares at his phone for a long time before he carefully types out a reply. 

_Derek: 12:22: I’ve been trying to think of what to say to you for days. You know that I’m not good with words. Not even with you. First of all, I never wanted to hurt you. I was scared that you would see how I’m not the person you thought I was, and that it might ruin things between us. And I don’t want to ruin things, because I care so much about you. But I’m so, so sorry. I want to change. I want to change because you deserve it._. 

He only has to wait a minute before Lydia responds: 

_Lydia: 12:23: That means a lot to me. I can’t wait to see you back in school <3 _

“You’re such a fucking coward,” Derek says aloud. 

It’s a long, long time before he is able to sleep. 

# 

“Okay,” Scott says Monday morning. “I was thinking maybe we should have some sort of plan in place based on the most likely reactions you’re going to get.” 

“Good thought,” Isaac agrees. “That way you’re not caught off-guard.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes at them as he puts on his tie. “I think I can handle it.” 

“What if one of the nuns pulls you aside and is, like, ‘God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and _Steve_?” 

Stiles snorts. “Right, because Adam and Eve worked out _so_ well for everyone.” 

“That’s good!” Isaac says. “Maybe even start detailing how things would have been different if it _had_ been Adam and Steve. What self-respecting man would have given up Paradise for an apple?” 

“So true.” Scott nods. “It would have had to have been, like, the Steak of Knowledge.” 

They both snicker. Operation Stiles Comes Out has already brought Scott and Isaac so close together that Stiles is starting to wonder if there might be three people coming out today. 

“You two are the worst,” Stiles tells them. Despite his flippancy there’s a churning deep in his belly. This is the Big One. He has no idea how people are going to react, and he’s had nightmares for the past five days about the entire school turning on him. 

“How about this,” Isaac says. “Let’s say a girl you’ve never even talked to before runs up to you and squeals, ‘I’ve always wanted a gay best friend!’?” 

Stiles grimaces. “Probably just punch her in the face on reflex, honestly.” 

“Oh boy,” Scott mutters. “See, it’s good that we’re workshopping this. Can you maybe think of a more appropriate response, Stiles?” 

“No.” Stiles grabs his bag. “Okay, guys. I’m ready.” 

His friends stand to flank him and Stiles rolls his eyes again. “Listen, Rambo One and Rambo Two, I don’t think I’m going to get egged before I even tell anyone.” 

“Shh.” Scott claps him on the back. “Just let us bodyguard you. Don’t fight it.” 

They make their way to the cafeteria. Their group has taken over the usual spot and Stiles takes a deep breath. He can tell Erica, Boyd, Allison, Cora, Danny, Jordan, Lydia, and Jackson at the same time. Derek isn’t here, thank God; he would never have been able to do it in front of him. In earshot at the next table are Matt Daehler and his crew, which isn’t great— Matt is an asshole— but Stiles figures he isn’t going to get a better opportunity than this. 

“Hey.” Stiles drops his bag on the table to get everyone’s attention. 

“Hey!” Erica grins at him. “We were just talking about you. What the hell happened between you and Derek? Why did you move in with Isaac?” 

“That’s not important. Listen up. I have something to tell you.” 

Jackson’s mouth falls open as he realizes what’s about to happen. 

“I like boys,” Stiles announces. 

The sky doesn’t fall. 

“Wait,” Jordan says. “Seriously?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You’re _gay?”_ Erica squeals. 

Now the entire cafeteria falls silent. 

“Yes.” Stiles’s ears burn and he forces himself not to look around. This will spread the news even faster than he’d hoped. “Always have been, always will be. But I don’t want to fuck any of the boys here, I promise, and I’m still the same Stiles. If you have a problem, take it elsewhere, because I frankly don’t care.” He had more planned to say, but he’s unable to get it out, as he’s been collectively mobbed by everyone at the table. 

“This is so cool,” Lydia tells him. 

“I feel so much better about you never making a move on me,” Erica says. 

Danny actually gives him a full-blown hug. “This is really brave, Stiles,” he says softly. “Good for you.” 

Stiles, incredibly, feels himself blush. “Thanks, man.” 

Out of the corner of his eye Stiles sees Matt and his friends standing up to move to another table, but he doesn’t have time to think about it for more than a second. His friends have formed a cocoon around him and they guide him into a seat, still chattering and touching him and smiling incredibly wide, happy smiles. 

Stiles can hardly believe it. 

Derek had been so wrong, after all. 

# 

The room is unlivable without Stiles. 

Derek has never slept in the school bed without Stiles in his arms or across the room snoring lightly. He tosses all night long and drags himself through a shower the next morning, so miserable it even feels like a struggle to breathe. 

Maybe he should just skip class. It’s not like it matters. He’ll still be valedictorian. If even if he isn’t, who cares? It’s not like he’s trying to impress anyone. 

He’s staring at his sneakers, debating the effort of actually putting them on, when Lydia knocks on the door and sticks her head in. 

“Hey, you,” she says. “You didn’t want breakfast?” 

Derek shakes his head and tries not to groan when she immediately comes to perch on his lap. 

“I missed you,” she says, pecking him on the lips. 

“I missed you too,” he lies. 

“You missed something huge. I mean, you probably already know, but still…” 

“What?” 

“Stiles.” Lydia shakes her head in amazement. “He’s gay.” 

Terror courses through Derek on instinct. _Deny_ , his brain orders. _Protect him. Stop this._ “Where did you hear that?” 

“Stiles told us. You didn’t know?” 

Derek shakes his head slowly. Holy shit. Stiles actually did it. 

Fear grips him again. Stiles actually _did_ it. Where is he right now? What’s happening to him? “Is he okay?” he asks Lydia, tensing as though he will throw her off of him and run out the door. 

“Are you kidding? I’m pretty sure they’re going to call Prom King for him six months early. Everyone’s going nuts.” 

“People are _happy_?” 

She shrugs “All our friends are, at least. I didn’t exactly take a poll.” 

“So…nobody tried to hurt him, or anything?” 

“Are you nuts? Sure, some of the super-Catholic kids are probably grossed out, and Jackson’s face was all weird about it, but I think he’ll be fine.” Lydia snorts. “You should have seen him. He was just so…I don’t know, _collected_ about it. Like, ‘This is who I am. Deal with it or fuck off.’ He didn’t give anyone the _opportunity_ to be shitty about it.” 

“But this is Catholic school,” Derek says dully, as if he’s desperately trying to stick to a script that Lydia has thrown out. 

“Because _we’re_ so Catholic, right?” Lydia winks at Derek suggestively. “Oh, I’m sure some people will try to run him out of school, but honestly, he’s so self-possessed about it, I’d kind of like to see them try. Besides, Scott would kick their asses.” 

Derek’s mouth is hanging open. 

“I mean, I bet Father Jeff is going to flip a shit,” Lydia adds offhandedly. “But what can he do? Is he even _allowed_ to punish him for it? I bet he’ll just pull him out of class and dance around the topic, and Stiles will just be like, ‘huh? What are you talking about?’ and that’ll be the end of it.” 

“Holy shit,” Derek mutters. 

Lydia frowns at him. “What’s wrong? Are you _sure_ you didn’t know? It’s so weird that he decided to move out just before this happened…do you think he has something going on with Isaac?” 

Derek bristles. “No way.” 

“It makes me wonder who else around here is secretly gay. I’ve always kind of thought, Danny…they would make a cute couple, don’t you think?” 

Derek closes his eyes. 

“Well, anyway.” Lydia flexes her fingers on Derek’s shoulders. “You have free period first, right?” 

“What? Oh, yeah. I was just going to study here.” 

“I’m free, too.” Lydia smiles and shimmies a little, so Derek can see that the top button of her blouse is undone. “Maybe we could go over anatomy together? Or maybe _French?_ ” 

Derek forces a chuckle. “Lydia, did you tell anyone about us?” 

“What? No…not yet.” Lydia chews her lip. “I was nervous that you didn’t talk to me for so long over break. But your text said everything, Derek.” She winds her hands around his neck. “Look,” she says, “I don’t want to ruin this either. You’re different Derek. I-I’ve never felt like this about anyone else.” She looks at him shyly. She’s so beautiful it almost hurts; it hurts because her beauty means nothing to him. “Have you?” 

Derek stares at her. He knows what he should do. He should kiss her, slide off her skirt, and pound into her until he has convinced himself that he’s happy. Then he should walk down the hallway with her, holding her hand so everyone can see. The smartest move is to make things public, so there will be no questions. 

But then there’s Stiles. 

Stiles, who has just done the craziest, bravest thing Derek can imagine. 

Stiles, who is the only person Derek wants to see right now. 

Stiles, who will be shattered if he knows what Derek has done. 

“Yes,” Derek says quietly. “I have.” 

He takes Lydia’s hands from around his neck and places them on her lap. 

“Lydia, we made a mistake.” 

He watches as Lydia’s bright eyes shut down, and wishes that he would stop making decisions that hurt the people around him. 

“What do you mean?” 

“We aren’t good together.” Derek takes a deep breath. “I should never have led you on like that.” 

“Led me on? Derek, we had _sex_.” Color creeps up Lydia’s cheeks. 

“I know. I’m so sorry, Lyd. You’re an amazing girl…I really mean that. Look, it isn’t you, okay? I swear, this is about me. I’m…I made a mistake.” 

Lydia shakes her head frantically. “Derek, wait. Look, I take back what I said. I don’t…It doesn’t have to be serious— ” 

“I wish to God I felt about you the way I said I did,” Derek tells her. “And you’ve given me something really important. But, trust me, it wouldn’t be fair to you to keep going.” 

“Derek, what the fuck?” Lydia slides of his lap and clutches her head in distress. “Is this about Cora?” 

“No. I told you. It’s about me.” 

Lydia just stares at him, eyes swimming with tears. “Derek,” she pleads, “I don’t understand. You said you loved me.” 

Derek swallows. 

“Did you just…was that just so I would sleep with you?” One tears slides down her cheek. She looks completely shattered. “Was it really all just a game?” 

Derek doesn’t know how to answer. “Lydia,” he says softly, “I honestly think you’re amazing.” 

Lydia stumbles backwards. “You’re right,” she says coldly. “You aren’t the person I thought you were.” 

That hurts. Derek forces himself not to reach out to her. “Look— let’s just pretend like it never happened—” 

Lydia turns and flees the room. 

Derek sits on his bed, trying to catch his breath. 

_Did I make a mistake?_

After everything he had sacrificed, was it really wise to give Lydia up like that? 

_What do I do now?_

Derek doesn’t know what his next move will be. But by the time second period rolls around, the deep, miserable ache in his gut he’s been carrying for over a week has faded enough that he grabs his bag and sets off to class. 

# 

Lydia wasn’t lying. Stiles is the hottest topic at St. Cecelia’s. 

Everybody knows, and everyone has an opinion about it. Derek hears several girls concluding that, somehow, the news makes Stiles more attractive to them. A few boys snicker as they try (and fail) to come up with good gay pun on Stiles’s name. Derek overhears two of the older nuns discussing it in hushed tones: “Such a waste,” one says, and Derek has to rush off to the bathroom before he gets sick. 

But nobody is forming a lynch mob. Conversion therapists haven’t rushed the school and carried Stiles off. It’s gossip— but it’s not a _scandal_. 

_How is this possible?_

Derek sees him third period, English lit with Sister Marin. They make eye contact for only the briefest of moments; Stiles is surrounded by Scott McCall and Vernon Boyd— weird, since Scott isn’t even _in_ this class. 

“Settle down,” Sister Marin calls, but there’s a low buzz in the class that won’t stop. Stiles, for his part, sits completely straight, not bothering to glance around, so cool and collected Derek wants to leap over the desks and kiss him until he’s whimpering for more. 

How is he doing it, with every eye on him and his name on every tongue? 

When the hell did Stiles get so brave? 

_And when did I become such a coward?_

Lydia was right about something else. Halfway through the class the loudspeaker blares and Stiles is called to the office. There’s another smattering of whispers and, for the first time, Stiles looks a little sick as he stands up. Someone hums, “Hellfire” from “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” and a few people giggle, though everyone shuts up when Scott and Boyd swing around in unison to glare the offenders down. 

Is this when the tide turns? Derek freezes in his seat. Maybe there’s a way to fix this. He could beg Lydia to ask Stiles out. They can say it was all just a big joke, a hoax that went too far. Stiles has always been a prankster; people might believe it… 

“Mr. Stilinski?” Sister Marin puts her hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “God’s got your back,” she tells him quietly. “And so do I.” 

Stiles grins at her. “Thanks, Sister.” He pretends to tip an imaginary hat to the room before he saunters out. Derek falls back in his seat as Sister Marin snaps at Scott and Boyd to sit back down rather than follow Stiles to the principal. “You all settle down,” she orders the classroom, chest swelling the way it does before a lecture during rehearsal. “In this classroom, we don’t let ignorance make us forget the Golden Rule. What is God, boys and girls?” 

“God is love,” everyone chants back. 

“That’s right.” She nods at them. “God is love, and love is truth, and truth shall set you free. Your classmate remembered that, and you all better, too. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to actually teach you for a few minutes. And get out of here, Mr. McCall. You show up in my class when you’re not on the roster, I’m going to think you’re stalking me. And I’m off the market. Page forty-four!” 

# 

Stiles doesn’t return that period, but Derek hears from Cora who heard from Isaac who heard from Stiles that Father Jeff just stammered awkwardly at Stiles for about fifteen minutes, told Stiles to report anyone who gave him trouble, handed Stiles some religious pamphlets made in the 1990s, and sent Stiles on his way. 

“He was laughing about it, apparently,” Cora tells him. “Can you believe how fucking chill he is?” 

“No,” Derek mutters. “I can’t.” 

“You seriously didn’t know?” Cora punches his arm. “Come on. Not even, like, a _guess?_ I’ve had a suspicion for years!” 

“You have?” 

“Sure. I mean, he’s never dated anyone, he’s been in the theater program since middle school…” Cora shrugs. “I’m just saying, I wasn’t shocked.” 

“Do you think that’s why everyone’s being so cool about it? Because they kind of knew all along?” 

“Huh? I don’t know, maybe.” Cora swings off the library table she’s been perched on while Derek works on homework. “You skipped lunch. Are you coming to dinner with all of us?” 

“No. I have a lot to do before rehearsals start back up tomorrow.” 

“Suit yourself.” Cora blows him a kiss. “Oh, by the way, did I tell you that something’s up with the Chlamydia Queen? She’s been crying in her room since this morning. Probably heartbroken to learn that she’s basically just been Stiles’s beard for two years. God, I hate her. See you tomorrow!” 

Derek tries to keep working, but he can’t keep his thoughts straight. Is this just the calm before the storm? Tomorrow will everyone wake up and decide that Stiles is disgusting? 

Or is Stiles safe simply because nobody is surprised? They’ve known him for years, after all. He’s everyone’s friend, the wisecracking sidekick who is always good for a laugh. His being gay doesn’t change any of that. 

But if Derek came out, people would be shocked. They would wonder how they missed the signs; they would question everything. He’s _Derek Hale_. Being gay was never part of the package. 

People love Stiles for who he is. People love Derek for an illusion. 

He can’t destroy that. Not yet. 

Derek sighs and packs his books away. As he moves towards the library entrance, somebody snags his jacket sleeve. 

“Hey, Hale.” 

Derek looks down and feels his lip curl in distaste. It’s Matt Daehler, Derek’s former football teammate. He’s sitting with a few of his other friends, each a bigger dick than the last. 

“Hey, Matt.” 

“Dude, how long have you know?” 

“Known what?” 

“About Stilinski liking it up the ass!” Daehler snickers, and Derek realizes sickeningly that Stiles is not safe from hatred, after all. “That’s why you kicked him out of your room, right?” Matt smirks at him, eyes bright and hungry for Derek’s approval. “I mean, it’s not like Derek Hale is going to room with a fucking faggot.” 

For a terrible minute, Derek almost agrees with him, just so he can leave. He almost forces a laugh, nods his head, and drops that awful word a few times to really sell the act. 

Almost. 

Instead he grabs Daehler by the shoulder, digging his nails into the meat and muscle, and gives Daehler a horrible smile. “If you ever call him that again,” Derek says softly, “I will fucking destroy you.” 

Daehler gasps and tries to wriggle out from under Derek’s grip. 

“That goes for all of you,” Derek says in the same dangerously quiet tone, glaring at each suddenly terrified boy in turn. “If you talk about him, if you lay a hand on him, if you even _look_ at him wrong…I will feed you your own teeth. Understand?” 

They all nod. Daehler is red-faced and desperate, and it feels so fucking good Derek has to force himself to let go. “Remember that,” he warns, and turns, ready to saunter out of the library, flush with his own power. 

Stiles is leaning against the doorway, watching Derek inscrutably. They lock eyes and something passes between them silently. 

Stiles nods slightly and walks away. Derek wants to chase after him, but he stops himself just in time. 

He fucked up. He can admit that now. 

Stiles needs this time for himself. Things won’t necessarily be easy for him for the next few weeks and months. But Derek can work behind the scenes to make things just a little easier. 

There will be other Matts, after all. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but there will be people who only see Stiles as something to hurt. Derek can stop them. He can still protect Stiles, just the way he always has. 

While he does, then, maybe, just maybe… 

Derek will learn how to be brave, too. 

And someday, he might just be worthy of Stiles again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT UP: Derek goes home for Thanksgiving, has an important conversation with Cora, and reaches out to Stiles


	10. You Said, "Don't Look Down" and Then I Did and Now You're Lost Above Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, this is going up SO late, mostly because I had family stay with me this weekend, and, uh, they have OPINIONS. Of the awful kind. Like, portions of the Argent's dialogue come from their direct quotes. Pray 4 me. Also, consider yourself on notice that there are homophobes being homophobic in this chapter, but nothing too terrible. Enjoy!

**Thanksgiving**

“I swear, it’s like I just saw you kids,” Chris says as Derek, Cora, and Allison climb into the car. 

“Howdy, Mr. Mayor,” Cora sings. “How goes life in the political ring?” 

“It’s going.” Chris’s eyes meet Derek in the rearview mirror. “Derek, you’ve been ignoring my texts.” 

Derek sinks into his seat. “Sorry,” he says. “Busy.” 

“Don’t try to get any more out of him than that,” Cora says. “He’s a freaking Neanderthal these days.” 

Derek glowers at her. 

“What? I’m right.” Cora pokes Allison. “Ally’s noticed too.” 

“I don’t know,” Allison says, ever the peacekeeper. 

Chris just shakes his head and puts the car into drive. “Well, this should cheer you up,” he says to Derek, handing back a long manila envelope. Derek looks down at the seal and swallows. 

“Notre Dame!” Cora trills. “Open it!” 

Derek does. He only has to glance at the letter to see the first emblazoned word: **congratulations!** “I’m in,” he says quietly. 

Both Cora and Allison tackle him as best they can in seatbelts, squealing, but Derek just stares at the back of Chris’s head, waiting for his reaction. 

“Good,” Chris says. “It’s nice to have that out of the way and settled.” 

Derek’s heart drops in disappointment. 

_Say, I’m proud of you._

_Say, I love you_. 

But of course he doesn’t. He just puts on his turn signal and drives onto the interstate. 

Derek stares out the window and wishes he could text Stiles the news. He can’t, of course. Except for a few minor pleasantries, they haven’t spoken since _the incident_. It’s not like Stiles needs him now, anyway. He has all his friends, who still form a pack around him as they walk down the halls together. Scott and Stiles have been joined at the hip. Of course, Scott hates Derek now, too. Most of the old group has realized that _something_ happened between Derek and Stiles, and assumed it was because Stiles was gay. Overnight Derek’s stock dropped among his friends to zero. 

And of course Lydia hasn’t said a word to him. She’s barely even showed up to play rehearsals. 

Derek has never been so lonely in his life. 

For the past three weeks he’s lived like a vigilante, tracking down every rumor about Stiles to its source. One night, when he heard that some boys were thinking of breaking into Stiles and Isaac’s room to mess with them, he sat in the hall for the entire night and waited. They never came, but he still found them the next day to make sure they understood what would happen to them if they tried to talk tough again. He’s gotten in the habit of waking up at five every morning so he can check each bathroom for new anti-gay graffiti and scrub it off. He knows his actions are almost bordering on insanity, but he doesn’t care. Who knows what Stiles might face over Thanksgiving break… 

“Earth to Derek,” Cora says, waving her hand in front of Derek’s face. “God, where have you been lately?” 

Derek shakes his head. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m here.” 

# 

Thanksgiving at the Argent house is a cold, clinical affair, more like technically difficult surgery than an outpouring of familial love and support. Derek’s grandparents always come, horrible people who recoil every single time they see Cora, as if they don’t know what terrible sin she’s committed for God to keep her face so marked. 

His grandfather Gerard is the worst— two years ago Cora mocked up a Bingo sheet for her and Derek to play on under the table during dinner with such categories as “Gerard says something sexist to his wife” and “Gerard makes a comment about the Middle East that literally causes someone to choke.” 

Every other year they’re also blessed with Derek’s Aunt Kate, who Derek thinks might actually be the devil on earth. 

“Derek,” Kate says now as Victoria brings out the turkey. “Chris tells me you’re in a play this year?” 

“Romeo and Juliet,” Derek mutters. He has a private contest with himself to see if he can get away with saying less than fifty words to Kate for the entire holiday. So far he’s up to eighteen and they haven’t even started eating. 

“That’s such an odd choice for you.” 

“He’s really good, Aunt Kate!” Allison pipes up. 

“But _theater_?” Kate looks around the table for support. “I mean, Chris, I’m just surprised. You’ve always said that only queers go into theater.” 

Derek crushes his fork in his hand until the tines are drawing blood. 

“Actually, that reminds me,” Chris says. “I heard a rumor about Stiles Stilinski.” He levels a look at Derek. “I wanted to ask you about it, but you’ve been dodging my messages.” 

“Who’s Stiles?” Kate asks, snickering at the name. 

“Derek’s roommate.” Chris keeps staring at Derek. “Apparently he just came out of the closet.” 

Derek meets his father’s gaze without saying a word. 

“It’s true,” Allison says. “I think it’s kind of cool. I mean, it took a lot of bravery.” 

“That isn’t brave, Allison,” Gerald says austerely. “I’m surprised at the administration for allowing it. And what were his parents thinking?” 

“His mother is dead,” Victoria says, hushing the last word as if it’s a secret. 

Kate snorts. “Well, _that_ explains it.” 

_My mother is dead too, you horrible woman._

“I’d like to know why you didn’t tell me, Derek.” Chris hasn’t taken his eyes off of Derek through the entire conversation. 

Derek stabs a cranberry. “We’re not roommates anymore.” 

“Good for you!” Kate says. “You have rights as a Catholic, Derek. It’s always important to stand up for that.” 

On second thought, the cranberry isn’t that appealing after all. 

“You kids should prepare yourselves,” Gerald says as he carves into the turkeys. “Next the boy will be saying he shouldn’t have to use the men’s lavatories, or room with another boy, because he doesn’t feel _safe_. You just tell me if he tries that; I’m not letting my granddaughter go to a school that allows boys in the girl’s room.” 

“I don’t think that will happen,” Allison says, a little tightly for her. 

“They just think they can get away with anything these days.” Gerard waves the knife around. “And the new policy is just to respond with _love._ You don’t love a creature like that. You fix him.” 

“Fix him,” Derek repeats blankly. 

“There are plenty of places that do it…camps, therapists; they even have programs at some military schools.” Gerard points the knife at Chris. “You give me the boy’s father’s phone number and I’ll send him all the information.” 

“I’ve read about it,” Victoria says. “Apparently they have very high success rates. Did you know the lesbian who wanted the abortion in _Roe v. Wade_ ended up converting years later and renounced both her role in the case _and_ her lesbianism?” 

“I’m a believer.” Gerard is practically pontificating now, and Derek knows he can lecture for hours once he gets going. “One of the girls at my church several years ago ended up getting sent to a Catholic summer camp that cured her of it.” He pauses. “Sadly she was put under so much pressure by the lesbian community that she ended up committing suicide a few months later, God rest her soul.” 

“It’s too bad they don’t institutionalize them anymore,” Kate adds. She’s laughing through her words, but there’s an ugly edge to it, like a cupcake iced with antifreeze. “Back in the old days they’d just electroshock it right out of the kid.” 

“What you’re talking about is torture.” 

Every head swivels to Derek before he even realizes that he has spoken. 

“Derek?” Chris asks coolly. Derek can’t tell if it’s a warning or an invitation, but his own beating heart is a war drum, and so he marches forward. 

“Torture,” he repeats. “Electroshock is nearly as bad as lobotomizing someone. It can kill people. And conversion therapy, according to any real medical practitioner, isn’t just unscientific but unethical. It’s _banned_ for minors in some blue states. Because they do electrocute people during it, you know. That, and they give them drugs to make them throw up while they show them pictures of boys together or a naked girl or whatever they’re trying to cure them of wanting. I could make you hate _anything_ if I did that to you. I could make you hate your wife, or your child, or your religion. It isn’t real.” 

“Of course it’s real,” Gerard snaps. The turkey is forgotten, potatoes going cold in Victoria’s fancy glass bowl. “If it stops them from sinning, that’s all that matters.” 

“It destroys them. That’s all it does. People kill themselves because of it. People _kill themselves_ so you can win imaginary points with God.” 

“Don’t you dare speak to your grandfather that way,” Kate hisses. “Of course it’s difficult. It’s pulling out a mortal sin by the root. You think we should just ignore it? That would be like seeing someone on fire and deciding not to put them out with an extinguisher because the foam might sting their eyes.” 

Derek knows she used that image just to upset him, but he forces himself not to flinch. “Every person here at this table is a walking sin. There are plenty of rules in the Bible we don’t follow.” 

“We don’t make a lifestyle of it.” 

“No,” Derek says, and, before he can think it through, adds, “You just make a lifestyle of hating them.” 

Kate stares at him across the table. Her mouth twists into a smile, and, even though Derek knows she is a beautiful woman, in this moment she is hideous. “Well, Chris,” she says softly. “Don’t you have quite the little activist on your hands?” 

“This isn’t an appropriate dinner table conversation,” Victoria says, reaching for Allison’s hand desperately. “Chris, you haven’t even said grace yet!” 

Cora grabs Derek’s hands and they bow their heads together. Stiles Stilinski is not mentioned again. And Derek, far past his fifty-word limit, doesn’t make another sound. 

# 

Later, after the guests have left and the leftovers have been put away, Derek escapes upstairs to his bedroom. He is still slightly in shock, amazed and furious at his own daring. It had probably ben stupid to go off like that, though Kate and Gerard had certainly deserved it. He can still feel the bubbly freedom that had filled him when he let the words spill forth. 

He had felt brave. Bold. _Right_. 

He grabs onto the feeling and holds it, lets it expand like a balloon in his chest. 

Then he reaches for his laptop. 

There’s too much to be said to fit in a text. He agonizes over each word, deletes whole passages and spends five minutes alone on the salutation. By the time he is finished he is a shaking, sweaty mess. 

_Dear Stiles,_

 _I don’t know if this email is premature or long overdue. I imagine you might not want to hear from me for a while yet, but I’ve wanted to say this ever since I lost you:_

 _

What I did was stupid, and terrible, and deeply, deeply misguided. I acted out of panic and ignorance. There is no world in which what I did was right. I don’t want to make excuses because that makes it sound like I’m blaming it on some other person…a guy I’m not anymore. But it was all me, and I hate that. I can’t tell you how many hours I spend in that study room inside my head, trying to change it. 

I know I can’t take back what I did. I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I know I haven’t earned it, and, even if I do, you don’t have to give it to me. I just didn’t want you to think that I don’t know what I did, and how wrong it was. You said that I would never know how much I hurt you, and maybe that’s true. But I know that you trusted me, and I betrayed that trust. I know that you needed me, and I let you down. I know that you loved me, and I threw it in your face. 

And I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. 

I’m also so proud of you for the way you’ve handled the past three weeks. There’s more I want to say about that, but I don’t feel like I have the right to comment on it, given what’s happened. I’ll just say that you were right and I was wrong. I should have believed in you. 

You don’t have to respond to this email. I don’t expect it. I just wanted you to know, I had Thanksgiving dinner with my family tonight…but the only person I wanted at the table was you. 

From my heart, 

Derek.

_

He presses “send” before he just deletes the whole thing, and then there’s no going back. 

Minutes later Cora knocks on the door. “Can I come in?” she asks, already striding inside. 

“Yeah.” 

“So, what was that about?” Cora stretches out on the bed and Derek joins her, so their heads are almost touching. “I’ve never heard you say that much…ever.” 

“I don’t know.” Derek stares up at the ceiling. He suddenly remembers the glow-in-the-dark stars his mother had put up in the room he shared with Nick, Tyler, and Aaron in his childhood home. At night sometimes he would make up fake constellations just to impress his brothers, until they all knew the locations of the Big Mermaid and The Bearded Bear by heart. “Kate just gets to me.” 

“How did you even know all that stuff?” 

“The internet.” 

“Weirdo.” Cora burrows into the bed, knocking their heads together. “You should have really freaked them out and brought, like, a little LGBT flag to wave during your speech.” 

Derek smiles. “If I’d had some advance warning I could have hired GLAAD to write out my key points.” 

Cora starts laughing. “You could have made a Thanksgiving playlist filled with Liza Minnelli and “The Village People” to score you in the background,” she chokes out, and it’s so stupid that Derek can’t help but join in, both of them howling with laughter the way they haven’t in years. 

Derek turns so he can see the unblemished side of Cora’s face, and heady courage swells up in him again. Maybe it’s time to stop seeing everyone as an enemy. After all, this is _Cora._ Derek’s little sister, born so close to him his mother used to joke Cora was even getting his hand-me-downs in the womb. She is the girl he saved from the fire and shielded at their family’s funerals. The girl who had managed to go downstairs with Mia the night of the fire only to lose her in the smoke, something she has never talked about for both their sakes. She is his constant, the beacon he always knows means safety. 

_Don’t think. Just do._

“Cora,” he says slowly. “There’s a reason I feel so strongly about that stuff.” She turns her head, a laugh still sparkling across her face. Derek takes a deep breath. “Cora, I’m—” 

“Okay!” Cora raises a hand to stop him. She’s still laughing, but there’s a sudden panic to it, accompanied by a tightness across her face and a quick, deep fear in her eyes. “I get it, Derek. You just need to know everything about everything. You’re so much smarter than the rest of us. Message received.” 

Derek stares at her. She keeps laughing in awkward little bursts. The color is high in her cheeks. No matter how long he stares at her, she won’t meet Derek’s eyes. 

She knew what he was going to say, and she stopped him. 

She doesn’t want to hear it. 

Derek expected to feel a lot of things when this happened, but all there is now is a hard, heavy depression, sinking like a stone in his belly. He wants to tell Cora to leave him alone, but when he opens his mouth he finds himself asking, so sadly he should be ashamed of himself, “Could you ever stop loving me, Cora?” 

Cora stops laughing and meets his gaze, with a clone of Derek’s sadness in her own eyes. “I’ll always love you, Derek,” she promises, her voice tear-clogged as she reaches for his hand. “There’s just…some things I’m just not ready for.” She searches his face as if _she_ is the one looking for acceptance. “Okay?” 

Derek nods and rolls over. After a minute more, Cora gets the hint and silently leaves the room. 

Derek buries his face in his pillow. He doesn’t move again for a long time. 

# 

The ride back to school is silent. When Derek reenters his dorm room he just wants to flop himself on his bed and find some way to black out, but dress rehearsal starts in two hours. He needs to figure out what the hell sort of makeup job he’s supposed to do on himself. Allison had donated a bag full of powders and lipsticks and had even agreed to help him put it on, but he doesn’t feel like seeing anyone right now. 

And then there’s a knock on the door— _bum bum ba-bum bum…bum bum_ — and Derek realizes that’s not quite true. There’s one person he wants to see. 

And that person is here. 

“Hey,” Stiles says unsmilingly when Derek swings open the door. 

“Hi,” Derek breathes. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Of course. It’s still kind of your room, isn’t it?” Derek steps aside so Stiles can enter. His heart is in his throat. 

Stiles wanders around the room, taking stock of what’s different. He stops at Derek’s desk and picks up Tony the Furby. The empty battery compartment swings open. “Derek,” Stiles mutters reprovingly. 

“He missed you,” Derek says lamely. 

“So you put him into a toy coma?” Stiles shakes his head and replaces the battery. Tony blinks himself to life. “There,” Stiles says, handing him to Derek. “Next time I come over here I expect him to be speaking in full sentences.” 

“You’re coming back?” Derek winces as the words fly out. “Sorry. Never mind.” 

“I got your email.” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and bites his bottom lip. Derek wants to trace the indent there with his finger. “It’s not like it fixes everything,” Stiles tells him with a little shrug. 

“I know.” 

Stiles nods and starts looking around the room again, staring at the blank walls. 

Derek decides to try being brave one more time. 

“My favorite memory of you is the day last year St. Cecilia’s closed because the heat went out,” Derek says. Stiles turns slowly to look at him. “They brought those little space heaters to each room and told us to dress in layers to keep warm. And you and I just stayed in bed all day watching Netflix. You were kind of laying in my lap, with your head right on my chest, and I was holding you. You ended up falling asleep there. We ate mini Hershey bars all day instead of taking the brown bag lunches they made for us. I remember thinking that it might have been the best day of my life, even though nothing extraordinary happened.” 

Stiles stares at him. 

“What I mean is…” Derek takes a deep breath. “I lied in the practice room. It wasn’t just sex.” 

A blush creeps up Stiles’s cheeks. He nods again. Usually Stiles is the talker and Derek stays nearly silent, and Derek doesn’t know how to fill the silent spaces. 

Everything is different now, and it’s his fault. 

Just before he falls to his knees and begs Stiles’s forgiveness, Stiles finally begins to speak. 

“My favorite memory is Martha’s Vineyard last summer. The day everyone went mainland but us.” Stiles smiles at the thought, the first time he’s smiled since he came in. “We went to town in our swim trunks and bought weird snacks at that old-fashioned store.” 

“Cheese straws,” Derek whispers. 

“Cheese straws.” Stiles nods. “And swirled chocolate, and dried wasabi peas, and hoop cheese, and peach soda. We ate it all on the porch swing, and then we went out canoeing in your dad’s private lake. I wore one of your stepmom’s dumb hats— do you remember that?—and when we were out in the middle of the water you kissed me. And that’s my favorite memory. Because it was the first time you ever kissed me outside.” 

Derek remembers. He remembers the way his stomach hurt from laughing so much. He remembers the way the canoe swayed when he leaned forward to kiss Stiles. And he remembers that after they went inside they had sex in Derek’s bedroom for the first time in weeks. There had been so little private time that summer that they’d only had sex a few quick, perfect times. “That was an amazing day,” Derek says. 

Stiles crosses his arms tighter to his body, seeming to fold in on himself. “Der,” he says in a small voice. “What you did…” 

“I know.” Derek’s throat closes. 

“You knew exactly what words would make me bleed, because I loved you enough to show you my weaknesses. And you used that against me.” 

“I’m sorry.” Derek wills himself not to tear up. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” 

“You said that the world wanted to hurt me, Derek.” Stiles scrubs his hands over his eyes. “But you were the only one who did.” 

Derek hangs his head. His shame pounds into him like endless waves. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. 

“I know you are.” Stiles groans in frustration. “I don’t know where we go from here, Derek. I don’t want to just repeating how you hurt me over and over when it can’t be fixed. Because I can’t just snap my fingers and make it go away. I wish I could.” 

Miserably, Derek nods. 

“But I miss you,” Stiles whispers. 

Derek dares to look up. “I miss you, too.” 

Stiles steps forward. Derek freezes, not wanting to push his luck. But he can smell Stiles from this close. He can see the gold flakes in his eyes. 

“Hold me, Derek,” Stiles says quietly, so quickly that Derek knows he didn’t expect to say it. “Please.” 

Derek wraps him in an embrace. 

This. 

This is what coming home feels like. 

He rests his forehead against Stiles and breathes him in. 

They stand there together until their heartbeats meld into one sound. Derek can’t help himself but to reach up and run his fingers through the back of Stiles’s hair, a little roughly the way Stiles likes it. 

Stiles makes a stifled little whimper at the contact. He looks at Derek through lidded eyes and moves his head just slightly, enough to go in for a kiss. 

Then he stops himself. 

“Lydia,” Stiles whispers, eyes arresting Derek’s. “What happened between you two?” 

Derek stares down at Stiles. He knows what will happen if he tells the truth. Stiles’s heart will break again, right where he is supposed to be safest. Stiles will push away from Derek, walk out of the room, and never return. 

Derek regrets what he did with Lydia so strongly it is like a poison inside. He will be punishing himself for it for as long as he lives. 

It’s not fair to ask that he be punished in this way, too. It will only hurt them both to tell the truth. 

“Nothing,” he lies easily, not looking away from Stiles. “I told her I wasn’t interested and she got upset. Now she’s just avoiding me.” 

Stiles exhaled in relief. “I kind of figured,” he admits. “But I needed to know.” 

“I’m glad you asked.” Derek tugs Stiles a little closer to him. “I don’t want somebody like Lydia,” he says. “I just want you.” 

Stiles tilts his head up and they kiss. It’s far too short, just a taste of what Derek is craving before Stiles is pulling away. “I still need more time,” Stiles warns him. 

Derek nods. 

“You’ve just always been my kryptonite, Hale.” 

“I understand.” Derek squeezes his hand once before he lets go. 

Stiles walks to the doorway and casts one last look around. He smiles at Derek. “I’ll see you at dress rehearsal, Romeo.” 

Derek gives him a little wave. “I’ll be the one in the tights.” 

“We all have to wear tights, whiner.” 

“Then I’ll be the one in tights missing you.” 

Stiles blows him a kiss and slips out, leaving Derek just a little less lonely than he was before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a quick minute to address the Cora of it all, because I love the character of Cora from the show and I don’t want people to feel like I’m taking her massively OOC or massacring her character for this story. Allow me to explain why that scene happened! 
> 
> In the musical, one of the boys attempts to come out to his mother, who reacts exactly the way Cora does. She loves her son very much, and she’s not a bad person, but she is just terrified to hear him actually say those three words. It’s an extraordinarily moving and heartbreaking scene (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAb_xYzcKFY, if you’re interested) and I wanted to incorporate it into this story, especially because I wanted to highlight how different the coming-out experience can be between someone who has love and support (Stiles) and someone who doesn’t (Derek). 
> 
> I also once had a conversation with one of my college professors that’s always stuck with me. She’s gay and she talked about how parents often reject their children or try to change them because they’re afraid of how difficult life will be for them. It doesn’t make them evil, or even homophobic. They’ve just chosen a VERY flawed way to show love for their child. 
> 
> Cora knows that her relationship with her brother will change once he comes out to her, and she knows how difficult things will be for him, so she acted out of fear. Like a lot of people, she forgot that coming out is about the person doing it, not the person hearing it. But fear not! Both Derek and Cora are still on their respective journeys. They’ve got a ways to go. : ) 
> 
> Okay, I’m off my soapbox. Thanks for listening! 
> 
> NEXT UP: Stiles fills in for Lydia at rehearsal, and Hell hath no fury like a Lydia scorned.


	11. Someday You'll Look Back and I Hope You'll Remember the Moment of Truth When I Knew Who I Was

Stiles has tried everything to forget Derek. He’s stashed mementoes under his bed, jacked off in the shower while forcing himself to think only of Benedict Cumberbatch and that hot doctor from _Grey’s Anatomy_ , and downloaded Grindr onto his phone in the hopes of having a rebound. 

Nothing works. 

Partly because nobody is on Grindr in this town. His nearest match was seventy-two miles away. 

But mostly because loving Derek is as much a part of Stiles as his ADHD or tendency to snort when he laughs. It’s more than habit; less than force. It just _is_ , and Stiles doesn’t know how to make it past tense. 

The truth is that love is not like a faucet that can be shut off. And it’s not a flower, like in that old Bette Midler song, that Stiles can just pluck out and throw away. 

It just is. Fuck metaphors. Maybe if people just let love be love Derek and Stiles wouldn’t have so many problems. 

Every time that Stiles sees Derek’s angry face in the study room in his mind, he also gets a flash of Derek sitting at his desk wearing his glasses, laughing at one of Stiles’s dumb jokes. He stares at the ripped pages of the comic book Derek threw and he remembers when Derek gave it to him, admitting sheepishly that it took him hours to track it down. He hears _faggot_ and _baby_ in Derek’s voice, playing over and over on a loop until neither word seems to mean anything at all. 

As Stiles watches Derek at rehearsal, he can feel himself being pulled back towards him. He thinks of the way Derek pulls him right to the edge during sex. His strong fingers brushing against Stiles’s cock as he whispers the best, filthiest things in Stiles’s ear. He can almost feel the brush burn on his cheeks from Derek’s stubble. 

Derek has changed. He admitted he was wrong. He put Lydia aside rather than use her to try and hide from the school. Stiles can’t help but admire those choices. He can’t help but be proud to think that his actions helped Derek make those changes. 

When you love someone, you’re supposed to inspire them to be a better person, after all. 

And as silly as it sounds, Stiles can’t help but feel like they are meant to be. Fate, God, something put them in that room together eighth grade. He can’t bear the thought of throwing all of that away. 

Stiles won’t be Derek’s secret again. 

But, if Derek is willing… 

Stiles is ready to be his boyfriend. 

**Friday**

“Ladies and gentlemen, we open tomorrow. You can count the hours. You can count the _minutes_.” Sister Marin shakes her head in despair as she surveys her cast. “This pickup rehearsal was supposed to be a way to spot-clean our problem areas, not build the show up from the ground.” 

“Blame Lydia,” Erica mutters. “She’s the one who didn’t show up.” 

Derek, idly twirling his sword in practice swooshes, can’t help but agree. Like everyone else here he’s in a foul mood. After a week of disastrous dress rehearsals, Lydia hadn’t bothered to come to tonight’s pickup rehearsal, leaving the rest of the cast to wade through the scenes for what is going on four hours. 

“We need to fix the dance,” Sister Marin says. “Braeden, please tell me you have these lines down.” 

Lydia’s understudy, who has spent most of rehearsal stumbling over every word, gives the Sister a sickly smile and nods noncommittally. 

The students step into their place for the party scene. This is one of Derek’s least favorite parts of the show; it’s arguably the most romantic, as it’s his and Juliet’s first meeting and kiss, and performing it with Lydia has been awkward at best and painful at worst. 

He flashes Braeden a smile to reassure her and Sister Marin begins piping the flutes over the loudspeaker. 

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this.” Derek steps through the fairly simple choreography, reaching out for Braeden’s hand. “My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand, to soothe that rough touch with a tender kiss.” He presses his lips to Braeden’s palm and closes her hand around the kiss gently. 

Braeden looks like she might faint from a combination of stage fright and proximity to Derek. “Good pilgrim,” she stammers. “Your hand…wait, shoot. My hand…” 

There’s a thud from the back of the auditorium, as if Sister Marin has just knocked her head against the wall. 

“Good pilgrim…I don’t know it, Sister. I’m sorry.” Braeden’s eyes fill up with tears. 

Then, from Derek’s left, a new voice starts speaking. 

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much.” Stiles steps forward, and, at Derek’s tiny nod, takes Braeden’s place in the dance. “Which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrim’s hands do touch—” their palms intertwine as they step towards each other— “And palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss.” 

There’s a snicker from somewhere in the chorus and Derek tenses. “Very nice historical touch, Stiles,” comes Sister’s Marin’s voice over the speakers. “After all, the original Juliet was played by a boy. And at least you know the lines. Keep going, you two.” 

A month ago Derek would have refused. He would have stepped away, faking a laugh, and later scolded Stiles in the room for being so careless. 

Now he takes Stiles’s hand and pulls him in for the turn. “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?” 

“Aye, pilgrim!” Stiles twirls under Derek’s arm and comes up beaming. “Lips that they must use in _prayer_.” 

Derek’s heart pounds. In just a few more lines comes the first kiss. He could do it. He could kiss Stiles right now, in front of everyone. 

It would be so easy. He has to spin Stiles into his arms as part of the choreography. He knows just where Stiles will fit into his embrace; he knows how easy it will be to lean down and seal their lips together like a promise. 

The simple knowledge that he could— that he _might_ — is enough to make him decide that he will. 

“Well, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do…” Derek’s voice drops and his vision narrows until all he can see is Stiles. He forgets Cora, Sister Marin, everyone. “They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.” 

Their hands touch again to form the bridge. 

“Saints do not move,” Stiles’s voice is soft now, too, and Derek knows that he can see Derek’s intent in his eyes. “Though, grant, for prayer’s sake.” 

Derek lets Stiles move away, so he can pull him back in at the end of the line. “Then move not,” he starts, and just as he tightens his grip on Stiles’s hand and begins to tug something catches his eye and shatters the spell. 

Lydia is standing at the edge of the stage, staring at Derek. Her eyes are huge, smudged with yesterday’s stage makeup, and her hair is a flyaway mess. Derek feels struck by her gaze, as though she has pierced him through, and he freezes in place. Stiles, a beat behind, crashes into him as he tries to continue the dance. “While my prayer’s effect I take,” he prompts Derek before he turns and sees Lydia. 

The music cuts out and Sister Marin makes her way to the front of the theater. ‘Lydia!” she calls. “How thoughtful of you to come. Of course, you’re a few hours late, but you’re the star, you deserve to take your time.” 

Lydia doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even move. Derek can’t help but think she looks a little imbalanced, standing there with her eyes fixed on Derek’s face. 

“Are you going to take your place before I replace you entirely with Mr. Stilinski, Miss Martin?” 

Lydia shakes her head slowly. “Ex _cuse_ me?” Sister’s Marin’s voice shoots past incredulous and verges into apocalyptic. 

Lydia just keeps staring forward. 

Sister Marin slams shut the heavy director’s binder she keeps at the front of the stage. ‘That’s it,” she snaps. “That’s the breaking point. I never thought I’d sympathize with Pontius Pilate, but I’m washing my hands of you all. I’m going to get some much needed sleep and you’re all going to figure this out for yourselves.” She points around the stage. “Everyone but Derek and Lydia, take a half hour and get some coffee. You two, fix whatever it is that’s going on. I want that chemistry I saw at the audition.” 

Lydia laughs. It’s a wild, sharp sound, and everyone stills when they hear it. Even Sister Marin stops short until the last echo has faded. 

“Lydia?” Allison shuffles forward cautiously. “Are you okay?” 

“The gonorrhea finally got to her brain,” Cora stage-whispers. 

“All right!” Sister Marin gives one last fire-producing glare around the cast. “I’m _definitely_ out of here. Who wants to be in charge for the rest of the night? No, Mr. Whittemore. If I leave you in charge I know full well you’ll be killed and eaten within an hour. Nobody’s in charge. This rehearsal is now officially a communist state.” She starts marching towards the back doors. “Be here tomorrow by five for sound check. And remember that I get a director’s gift for this. You better make it _good_. I will fail each and every one of you for putting me through this.” 

“Well,” Boyd says one the door has slammed shut, “this might officially be a bigger disaster than _Midsummer_.” 

Everyone starts laughing and talking amongst themselves as they slowly move off the stage. Derek knows full well that half of them won’t return once the half-hour is up, but it doesn’t matter. Something tells him he can’t fix what’s going on with Lydia in that time anyway. 

“What did you do to her?” Stiles mutters. Lydia is still staring at the two of them. Derek suddenly thinks of the afflicted children from the Salem Witch Trials; he half expects Lydia to raise an accusing finger and start shrieking. 

“I have no idea.” 

“Jesus. Well, good luck with that. See you in thirty.” Stiles reaches down and squeezes Derek’s hand. “Hey,” he says softly. “Isaac’s not feeling too well today. Do you think…is my bed still free?” 

Derek breaks into a radiant smile. Finally, at last, he has begun to earn his boy back. “Of course it is.” 

“Awesome.” Stiles gives one last look at Lydia. “Have fun.” 

Stiles jumps off the stage to join Scott and Erica and Boyd. Allison is still speaking softly to Lydia, who doesn’t appear to be responding. Jackson steps towards her and tries to take her hand. 

“Lyd?” He pouts when she wrenches her hand away. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

Her lips barely move. “Go away, Jackson.” 

“I think maybe I should stay with you and Hale. Does that sound okay?” 

“I said _go away._ ” Lydia whips her head around to redirect her glare at Jackson, and Derek breathes a sigh of relief. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to _see_ you. Is that so fucking difficult to understand?” 

Jackson stares at her in shock. “Lyddie, I just want to help.” 

“I don’t want your help. When are you going to get this through your fucking head, Jackson? _I don’t want you._ I never will. So for the love of God, take a fucking hint and leave me the fuck alone.” 

Everyone left in the theater is blown away. Lydia has always been the sweet one, all giggles and flirty touches and breasts on display. This girl, dressed in a baggy sweatshirt, has a darkness and heaviness about her, as though the sugar and spice that made up Lydia Martin has gone rotten. 

“Hey, maybe rehearsal’s not a good idea right now,” Allison suggests. “Let’s go to my room and we’ll talk, how does that sound?” 

“No.” Lydia looks back at Derek. “I need to talk to your brother, Allie. We have to find our _chemistry_ again, didn’t you hear? So all of you, get out and let us do that.” 

_Don’t leave me,_ Derek thinks as Jackson slinks towards the exit backstage and Allison, looking torn, slowly walks away from Lydia and leaves the theater to join her friends outside. 

Derek and Lydia are alone for the first time since their breakup. 

“Okay, Lydia.” Derek doesn’t know exactly how to face this girl, so he tries to smile at her, but he can feel it stretch awkwardly on his face. “I get that you’re mad at me. So…let me have it. Say whatever you need to say.” 

He expects fury, maybe even fists. Instead, Lydia’s face crumples almost instantly. “Derek, I’ve been texting you since yesterday. Over and over. I’ve _called_ you. You won’t answer.” 

Derek winces. He forgot that he blocked Lydia’s number in a misguided “out of sight, out of mind” plan three weeks ago. “I didn’t get them. I’m sorry.” 

“You fucking _asshole_.” 

“Lydia.” Derek tries not to get angry. “We broke up.” 

“Well, guess what, Derek? You don’t get to do that!” Lydia strides towards him furiously. “You don’t get to just fuck me and then act like it was _nothing_ to you at all, like it was supposed to mean _nothing_ to me!” 

“It was sex, Lydia!” Derek forces himself to keep his voice down. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. Hell, as far as I knew you were just checking off another name in your little black book.” 

“You _fucker_.” Lydia chokes on a sob. “It wasn’t nothing. You took my virginity, Derek.” 

Derek’s mouth drops open. “You’re lying,” he says automatically. 

“No. I’m not.” 

“Lydia, come on.” Derek shakes his head to clear it. “I’m sorry, but…I’m not _deaf._ I’ve heard people around school talking about you. You told me at my party that you like sex!” 

“I lied.” Lydia sniffles. “Freshmen year I went out with a senior. He tried to go too far, and I stopped him. But the next day, everyone was talking about me. The boy and Cora told _everyone_ that we’d done it and when I tried to say we hadn’t they just laughed at me. They _laughed_. That’s when I learned…if people think you’ve had sex and you act like you love it, you’re popular. If people think you’ve had sex and you try to deny it, you’re just a whore.” 

“Are you serious?” Derek can’t wrap his brain around this. Had she bled, that night? Had she cried out in pain? He _can’t remember_. 

“I’m serious. You’ve always been different, Derek. You weren’t like the others boys…you never wanted me, and so I wanted you.” A tear, black-clouded, slides down her cheek. “And it just felt so _right_ with you. I didn’t know anything. I trusted you. And you just used me like a…a fucking fleshlight.” 

Derek feels shame billow up. “I’m so sorry,” he tells her. “God, Lyd, I didn’t know. I never would have…” 

“But you did.” 

“I know.” Derek takes a deep breath. “Look, I know how hurt you must be. Just…pretend it never happened. You can still be a virgin in your heart. I’ll never say a word.” 

Lydia lets out that wild laugh again. “Yeah, well, that’s not really an option.” 

“It’s not?” Nausea curls in Derek’s stomach. She can’t mean… 

“You’ve always succeeded at everything you do, Derek.” 

“Fuck, Lydia. What are you saying?” 

Lydia bursts into tears. “Derek,” she sobs, and Derek can almost feel the pages of his life being rewritten yet again. “I think I’m pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT UP: The shit hits the fan


	12. Can You Know That I'm Sorry for All I've Undone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to trigger warnings! See you in the end notes.

**September, Junior Year**

Derek is waiting for Stiles. He has moved all of his belongings into their bedroom in record time, he’s so anxious. Stiles will be here any minute, and it has been three months since they saw each other. Derek is a bad texter, so they’ve hardly spoken either, and he misses his roommate so much it hurts. 

Maybe Stiles has moved on. 

Maybe Stiles has realized that what they were doing was wrong and horrifying, and he never wants to see Derek again. 

As the minutes tick by, Derek becomes more and more convinced that someone is going to slip a pink paper under the door, his copy of Stiles’s room change request form. He regrets every second he spent this summer clandestinely watching gay porn on his laptop, memorizing the things the actors did and said, repeating the dirty words until they didn’t sound ridiculous in his voice. Before break he’d looked at Stiles’s search history on his laptop while Stiles was still asleep to see what sites Stiles visited, just so he could understand all of Stiles’s kinks. God, he’d even cruised online sex shops, debating whether or not to buy any toys for them. In the end he’d decided against it; he could only imagine what would happen if Chris intercepted the package at the door. 

Derek has done something, fucked up somehow, and Stiles isn’t coming. 

He should have known this was going to happen. 

When the door finally opens, Derek is so relieved he nearly falls off his bed. 

Stiles and his dad come through together, lugging suitcases. “Hey there, Derek,” The Sherriff says cheerfully, and Derek jumps up to help him with the load. The Sherriff is a nice guy and all, but Derek needs Stiles alone, and the faster he gets Stiles moved in the better. 

In the end, it’s over two hours before the Sherriff hugs Stiles one last time and leaves them alone. Before Derek even has a chance to worry, Stiles turns to Derek and grins. 

“Do you think he noticed my boner?” 

Derek pulls his Stiles in and kisses him. “Lock the door,” he orders when he pulls away and Stiles nods, glassy-eyed already. Derek swears he can smell his arousal in the air and it makes him painful-hard. He thought he wanted Stiles when they weren’t together but that’s nothing compared to the _need_ he feels when Stiles is next to him but not yet crushed in his arms, writhing under his body, split open with his cock. 

They can never be _just roommates_ again. 

Stiles stuffs a towel under the door and begins to take off his shirt. Derek drops down and pulls down his pants, licks at the lump of erection under his briefs. Stiles buckles and Derek takes the moment of weakness to sweep him up and deposit him on Derek’s freshly-dressed bed. 

“Do you remember what you said at the end of last year?” 

Stiles blinks up at Derek. “Ah— that I like it rough? Dirty?” 

“That’s right.” Derek places nibbling little kisses on Stiles’s neck. They had been fairly simplistic last year— Derek on top, Stiles moaning underneath him; a few minutes of thrusting and a handjob for Stiles if he asked. But Derek knows now that Stiles wants more. “I liked that you told me how you wanted it. I spent all summer _training_ myself so I could give it to you just right.” 

Stiles gasps as Derek moves towards his nipples. “You…trained for me?” 

“I did. And I learned so much, baby.” Derek closes his lips over Stiles’s nipple and sucks once, hard. “Someday I’m going to take my school tie and tie your hands to the bed board,” he whispers. 

Stiles’s eyes roll back into his head. 

“Someday I’m going to get so frustrated with your smartass mouth that I’m going to have to spank you.” 

“Oh, fuck, Derek.” Stiles is starting to edge towards being too loud, so Derek covers his mouth briefly in warning. Stiles bites at his skin, so Derek bites at his neck in retaliation, sucking the three seconds he needs to leave a red mark that will fade in an hour. 

“But today I think I’m just going to make sure your ass didn’t forget me over the summer.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles gasps. “Yeah, fuck, so it hurts, come inside me, make me yours…” 

His last words shoot straight to Derek’s dick and he reaches blindly for the lube. He wants to scissor Stiles open; he wants to make Stiles _scream_ — but he knows that isn’t possible. 

Someday he will fuck Stiles in a place where they can be as loud as they want. He doesn’t know where that place is, but they will find it. 

He probably doesn’t prepare Stiles enough, given how long it’s been since the last time, but he’s so fucking hard that he doesn’t think. Stiles cries out when Derek sinks into him and Derek claps a hand over his mouth again, whispering desperately in his ear— “ _I’m sorry, baby, shh, shh, sorry, quiet, quiet, good boy, didn’t mean to hurt you, you’re all right, shh, shh”_ — until he’s sure that nobody is banging down their door and they’re still safe. 

“Keep going,” Stiles whimpers, and Derek moves carefully, almost gently. Soon Stiles is growling under him, thrusting his hips up to get more friction. Derek picks up speed, until he can hear the meat of Stiles’s ass slapping against his hips. Stiles begs him to call him a good boy again and so Derek does, praising every part of him. He even lets Stiles rake his fingers down Derek’s back, bringing blood. Nobody will see. 

He remembers just in time to stuff his shirt into his mouth when he comes. Stiles comes untouched a moment later, biting down on Derek’s hand so he’ll be quiet. 

The brand-new sheets will need to be washed. 

Derek doesn’t give a fuck. 

There are people to see, books to buy, but after they’re finished welcoming each other back they just stay curled up in the bed together for a long time. “That wasn’t what I was expecting,” Stiles confesses eventually. 

Derek stops nuzzling into the back of his neck. Embarrassment heats up his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…I just, you said you wanted it that way, I didn’t mean to…” 

“No! No, that was amazing.” Stiles rolls languidly to face Derek. “I just got a little worried when we barely spoke this summer. I was afraid maybe you were, you know, done with me.” 

Derek can’t help but laugh. “I worried about the same thing, baby. Why would you think I would stop wanting you?” 

“I don’t know.” Stiles is on constant blush now, his cheek hot against Derek’s chest. “You’re _Derek Hale_. You could have anyone you want. Sometimes I feel like I don’t really know where I stand with you.” 

“I don’t think you need to worry about _standing_ anywhere with me.” 

“Ew. Come on. Not even I would make that joke.” 

Derek chuckles, then lapses into thought as he goes back to lazily worshipping Stiles’s body. They’ve never defined their relationship or set any rules beyond the basics. Derek hadn’t thought it was necessary, but maybe they could both use some peace of mind. “Hey,” he tells Stiles, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. “I know we haven’t really gotten into what we are, or taken this too seriously, but there are some things I just wouldn’t do. Okay?” 

Stiles smiles at him. His eyes are still post-coital dark. “Are you promising never to leave me, Derek?” 

“I’m not going to just up and dump you. Ever.” Derek chews his lip. “And I think this is kind of a given, but…we’re not doing this with anyone else. Right?” 

“Of course.” 

“Well, there you go.” 

Stiles kisses him softly on the lips. “That’s sweet, Der,” he says, but there’s something a little forced about his smile. Derek sighs. He hates talking about his feelings; even Stiles can’t bring out his eloquent side. But goddamn, he missed Stiles over the summer, and Stiles should know how Derek feels. 

“You and I, we’ve had some pretty rotten lots in life,” 

“True.” 

“We’ve both been hurt enough for two lifetimes.” 

Stiles laughs. “Yeah.” 

“So we just promise not to hurt each other.” Derek traces mindlessly on Stiles’s back, realizing too late that he’s just made a heart. “I think that covers everything.” 

Stiles takes a surprisingly long pause before he answers. “Deal.” 

“Good.” Derek leans back and closes his eyes. 

“Should we seal it with a kiss?” Stiles teases. 

“If you want.” Derek puckers his lips and Stiles snorts before leaning down for a peck. “But I’m _Derek Hale_ ," Derek tells him, putting on a snooty voice to make Stiles laugh again. 

“So?” 

“So, you know, I’m perfect.” Derek sits up so he can give Stiles a real, pact-sealing kiss. “And more importantly…” he caresses Stiles’s cheek with his finger and wonders if he’s up for round two. 

“Yeah?” 

Derek smiles at him. “I don’t break promises.” 

**Now**

“Pregnant?” Derek repeats. The word bounces around in his head, divorced from any meaning. He can’t bear to accept what she’s really telling him. 

Lydia is sobbing in earnest now. A part of Derek wants to try and comfort her, or at least make her quiet down before someone hears. “Derek, I’m so fucking _scared_.” 

“Okay.” Derek scrubs his hands over his face. “Okay, okay. Are you sure— I mean, you know it was from us?” 

“I just told you I was a virgin!” Lydia’s voice raises and Derek, lost in fear, wants to throttle her. She is doing this to him, maybe on purpose, dragging him back to her when he already said _no_. 

“And if I ask any other boy at St. Cecilia’s, what would they say?” 

Lydia covers her face with her hands and cries. She looks so helpless that Derek feels sorry for her, and that only fuels his fire. He has earned this anger. He deserves to feel it, to let it out for once in his life. 

“I’ve seen you on dates, and I hear what they say the next day…are they all liars, Lydia? Each and every one?” 

“Nobody wanted to be the boy who didn’t fuck Lydia Martin,” she sobs. “I turned each of them down and they all thought they were the only one who didn’t have me…so I told them to tell the school whatever they wanted, and they did.” Her tears are wrecking her voice, making it difficult to understand her. “All I ever wanted…was to be happy.” 

Derek’s anger evaporates in the fire of his fear. “God, Lydia. Oh my God. This was me, wasn’t it? I did this. Oh, _God_.” 

Pregnant. That means a baby. A fucking _baby_ in the womb of an eleventh-grade girl, currently accumulating cell after cell with Derek’s DNA. It’s in the _room_ with them right now, sealed behind Lydia’s skin, a microscopic little alien that is going to ruin his life. 

It’s not fair. It’s just not fucking fair. 

“Why didn’t you wear a condom?” Lydia wails. 

“I thought you were on birth control!” 

Lydia laughs crazily. “Oh, yeah, Derek. All Catholic schoolgirls are on birth control. They hand out a prescription with our first devotional.” 

So stupid. So fucking _stupid_. 

“Did you go to a doctor yet, or…?” 

Lydia shakes her head. 

“So what, you just took a test?” 

Lydia shakes her head again. 

Derek feels his anger trying to return. “How do you know you’re pregnant?” 

“I don’t _know_ , Derek. But it’s been a month, and I was supposed to get my period last week, and _nothing_. I’ve been freaking out ever since it happened because I just had a bad feeling about it…” 

“A bad feeling?” Derek wants to smash something. “Jesus Christ, Lydia. Why would you come to me without being sure?” 

“Because I’m _scared_ , Derek! Do you have any idea what this has been like for me? I bought a pregnancy test and the cashier looked at me like I was something _awful_. Once I take it, there’s no going back. I can’t do this alone!” 

Derek covers his face with his hands. He does not want to be Lydia’s person through this, shouldering her stress and fear. He’s too young. 

Too young to be a father. 

Old enough to fuck a girl and knock her up. 

“Okay,” he says, trying to sound calm. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go take that test. I’ll wait right outside. I’ll be the one to look, if you want me to. And then…we’ll just deal with it. Whatever it is.” 

“What if it’s positive?” Lydia stumbles forward and Derek finally touches her, rubs his hands up and down her arms as soothingly as he can. “Derek, I need to know that you’ll…you won’t leave me, will you?” 

The nausea in Derek’s stomach sours. He can taste bile in the back of his throat. 

“I can’t be an unmarried teenage girl,” Lydia whispers in despair. “You know what our parents will want us to do. You won’t…deny me, will you? You won’t lie, or say I’m a whore?” 

For a moment her words almost fill Derek with hope. Because he _could_ do it. He could say that he never touched her— that she was angry when he told her to leave him alone, got pregnant by some loser, and is coming after Derek for revenge. Cora would back him up. Lydia’s own reputation would be all the proof he needed. 

And Derek would never be able to look himself in the mirror again. 

“No,” he says dully. “I won’t deny you. I’ll pay child support, whatever. I won’t let you be alone through this.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I promise.” 

“They’ll want us to get married,” Lydia says, spitting the last word. 

It’s true. Of course it is. Derek’s father will be furious, but he’ll do right by the Martins. It happens every year. Teenagers make mistakes. Girls get pregnant. Boys get responsible. 

And it all ends with two scared teens at the front of the church, wondering how their lives went so wrong. 

“No,” he whispers. “No, we don’t have to go that far. I’ll support you. But I can’t…” 

Lydia grips his arm. “Derek,” she says. “I know you don’t love me. I…I understand. But maybe someday…if there’s a baby…maybe you could learn. Maybe you could love me. Do you…do you think you could?” 

“Oh, Jesus.” Tears fill Derek’s eyes for the first time. 

“You could try,” she whispers. “Promise me that you could try to love me. _Us_. Please, Derek.” 

Derek stares at her. She is asking for his life, handed over and lost to him forever. If he makes this promise, he is pledging over his entire future. 

And yet, if she is pregnant, he has already taken her life and her future. It isn’t fair that he gets to keep it all, while all her dreams are shrugged away. 

And if there’s a baby… 

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe God has done this on purpose, a brutal course-corrector, because he saw where Derek was headed. 

Maybe…just maybe…this was always supposed to be his fate. 

“Please,” Lydia repeats. 

Derek hesitates. 

And from just offstage there is a terrible, poisonous whisper: 

“Maybe he would love you…” 

Even before Derek turns to look, he is already praying. Somewhere deep down he knows what is about to happen. He’s not ready. Not now. Not here. Not like this. 

“Maybe… if he weren’t the way that he is…” 

Jackson is standing at the edge of the stage. 

The door, the fucking door backstage. Derek had never heard it open and close. 

Jackson had never left. 

“He wouldn’t have used you like a fucking toy…” 

“Jackson?” Lydia whispers. 

_Please._

 _No._

“Maybe he wouldn’t have fucked you and used you, maybe he would have treated you the way I would have, maybe he would have loved you… _maybe_ …” 

In Derek’s head there is just a single long, paralyzing scream, and he knows what Anne Bolyen and Marie Antoinette and anyone who ever faced the executioner’s block must have felt just before the axe swung. 

“Maybe…” Jackson takes a deep breath. “If he didn’t already love his roommate…if he wasn’t a fucking _faggot._ ” 

In the moment before Jackson tells the truth the door at the back of the auditorium opens and the entire _Romeo and Juliet_ cast spills through. That terrible last word rings through the air, like a proclamation in the voice of God as it comes through the state-of-the-art sound system, paid for by parents who just wanted their children to have the best of everything. 

Derek sees Stiles at the front of the group. He stops short and stares back and forth between the furious tears in Jackson’s eyes and Derek’s frozen face. 

Then he laughs. 

Everything else in the auditorium is dead quiet as Stiles makes his way to the stage. 

“Come on, Jackson,” he calls easily. “I come out and all of a sudden you decide to go and steal my thunder?” 

Derek catches his breath as Stiles takes the stairs two at a time. 

“Sorry, buddy, but I _roomed_ with Derek Hale. He’s as straight as they come.” Stiles flashes Derek a quick smile. “I wish, though, right?” 

“Don’t,” Jackson says. “Don’t you fucking play dumb with me, Stilinski.” 

Derek sees Cora in the group of students back away slowly, not looking at the stage, until she is able to reach the door and sneak out. 

“I think the stress is getting to you, man,” Stiles says. 

“Should I tell everyone what I saw at the rave?” Jackson shouts. “Don’t you think they deserve to hear it? _I love you, Derek, I love you._ And should I tell them how Hale kissed you and begged you to say it again, _again_ …” 

“Shut up,” Stiles says, smile slipping. 

“Oh, you haven’t even heard the best fucking part, Stilinski.” Jackson slaps Stiles on the back. “Your boyfriend is going to be a daddy! Isn’t that exciting?” 

Stiles turns. He stares at Derek, at the sobbing Lydia next to him. 

“Derek?” he whispers. 

“They were just talking about it,” Jackson spits, eyes alight like a man possessed. “They’re going to get _married_. But you can be the best man…you’ve always been Derek’s _best man_ …” 

“Derek,” Stiles repeats. He stumbles backwards, looking completely devastated. 

“He’ll have his wife to fuck from now on, but maybe he’ll still call you over every so often. You can be his kid’s special uncle— ” 

“Shut the fuck up, Jackson!” Derek roars. Stiles is staring around, stunned and horrified. Derek can’t stand it; this can’t happen; he can’t do this to Stiles _again_ … 

“Are you going to deny it, Hale? Go on, you fucking, fucking coward, try and lie your way out of it, try and hide the fact that everyone’s favorite guy is a secret fag…” 

“I said _shut up_!" Derek forgets how to think; he forgets how to be human. He only knows that Jackson has to stop before he destroys everything. Derek needs a single quiet moment just to fucking think so he can figure this out, and Jackson will not _fucking shut up for one fucking second._

There are screams from the students as Derek plows his fist into Jackson’s nose and blood sprays warm on his hand. There’s a satisfying crunch and Jackson groans, finally shutting his mouth. Derek keeps hitting, blind with rage, until somebody grabs him from behind and hauls him away. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Scott McCall shouts in his ear. He’s got one arm; Boyd has the other. Isaac and Erica are bent over Jackson, who is currently collapsed in a bloody heap on the ground. Allison is trying to comfort Lydia, who is hysterical. She bends at the waist, her hand splayed over her stomach. 

As if she is protecting the baby that might be…protecting it from _Derek._

“Is it true?” she cries. “God, no. Derek? Is it true?” 

“Of course not,” Derek replies on reflex. “He’s a fucking liar. He’s…I’m not…” 

_I won’t deny you. I promise._

Lydia’s gaze slides past him. “Stiles?” 

Stiles stares at her and doesn’t reply. 

Then he nods. 

Lydia buries a scream in Allison’s shoulder. 

“Take him to the nurse,” Scott orders Isaac, his voice surprisingly authoritative. “You’ll have to wake her up…it’s almost midnight. Boyd, help them. Ally…get Lydia to the nurse too. Hurry.” 

Isaac, Boyd, and Erica help Jackson to his feet. He groans again and spits blood at Derek’s feet. “Fucking coward,” he repeats, words garbling through his bloody mouth. 

“Scott, help me,” Allison says, and Scott lets go of Derek’s arm, though not before giving him a warning look. Derek watches helplessly as they murmur soothingly to Lydia, helping her to stumble off the stage without a look back at him. 

When he looks back at the auditorium, he sees that everyone is gone. They ran when they saw what Derek Hale truly was— ran to tell their friends and call their parents and spread the truth like wildfire. 

Derek is alone. 

No. Not alone. 

Stiles is still here. 

Derek is so relieved when he sees that Stiles stayed that he nearly bursts into tears. “Stiles,” he says. “I don’t know what to do.” He moans as it all rushes over him. “Oh, God, Stiles. I need help.” 

Obviously Stiles is hurt. He realizes that Derek lied about Lydia, and that now Derek might be facing a lifetime shackled to her. But Derek knows how this will go. Stiles will let Derek hold him and call him baby. He will soothe Derek, make a few little jokes, chase away the darkness the way he would when Derek would have nightmares about his dead family. 

That’s what Stiles does. 

He forgives. 

He fixes. 

But when Derek steps towards him, already opening his arms for an embrace, Stiles skitters away, hiding his face. 

“Stiles,” Derek begs. “Please. I need you.” 

When Stiles speaks, Derek realizes that he is crying. “I’ve been here, Derek…I was here, waiting for you all along.” 

“I know. Baby.” Derek closes his eyes. Everything hurts. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“You chose _her_.” 

“I didn’t. I didn’t mean to.” 

“I can’t keep doing this.” Stiles shoves Derek away. “I can’t keep loving someone who isn’t real.” 

Derek hunches forward as if he has been shot. 

“The boy from our room,” Stiles whispers. “He’s been gone for a long time.” 

“No, Stiles. No.” 

“The boy I loved…he never lied to me. He was brave. He was _good_.” 

“He’s still here.” Derek’s face is wet, even though he didn’t realize he was crying. “Stiles, please, please, _please_.” 

“He loved me.” Stiles looks at Derek for the first time. “And you don’t.” 

_But I do._

The words don’t come out. 

They’re too small to fix what Derek has done. 

“You’re somebody else now. And I can’t love a stranger.” Stiles wipes at his eyes. “I won’t wait for you anymore. This is done.” 

“Don’t leave,” Derek begs as Stiles begins to move backstage. 

“I can’t help you, Derek.” Stiles looks at Derek one last time. His broken heart is right there in his eyes. “I’m just your ex-roommate.” 

This time Derek hears the door open and shut as Stiles leaves him for good. A deep stillness settles over the auditorium, while the boy everyone wanted to be stands alone in a spotlight, blood at his feet and tears running silently down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DETAILED WARNING: Some mild but still shitty slut-shaming from Derek to Lydia. Jackson outs Derek to the entire class. Homophobic slurs as have been used before are used by Jackson. Derek tries to deny Stiles in front of everyone and attacks Jackson, so very minor violence there. Stiles walks away from Derek for good.
> 
> NEXT UP: Derek seeks spiritual guidance


	13. Bear Up the Cross, Let the Church be Your Spine, Don't Question Too Much and You'll Get Along Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A teensy chapter to bridge us towards the climax. See you in the end notes!

There are days— or, more accurately, there are cold, black nights— when Derek thinks that a part of him died the night of the fire. If he lets himself sink into the memory he can pinpoint the exact moment: right when the policeman holding him turned him away from the house to bundle him into an ambulance. That was the moment Derek knew they were all dead, and he felt a piece of his soul being sawed away and cast adrift. 

That dead part of him remains trapped in his body, a forever-thirteen ghost, made younger by the state of endless grief and fear in which he is kept trapped. He bubbles to the surface whenever Derek feels a shadow of what he felt that night, as if all he knows is despair and he follows wherever it leads. 

Derek can feel him now as he runs through the halls of St. Cecilia’s. The boy is terrified. He wants his mother’s embrace. His stepfather’s calm voice. Holly’s baby smell. Aaron’s adoring eyes. He doesn’t understand why the world is hurting him. He wants to go home. He will always want to go home. 

That boy, that stupid boy. 

He doesn’t even know that he’s already dead. 

# 

Father Jeff is drifting in the shallow pool of unconsciousness his Friday night beers always bring when he is jolted awake by a pounding on his door. 

His mind needs several seconds to catch up with his racing heart, but he knows instantly that something must have happened. A student is hurt. An overdose or a suicide. Prayers spring to his lips on reflex and he reaches up automatically to grab his cross. 

The banging is accompanied by shouting. “Please, please…” 

“What is it?” Jeff stumbles to his feet. “Who’s there?” The voice is strung out and unrecognizable. He can only tell that it’s a boy. 

“Confession,” the person shouts. “Please, I need confession. _Please_.” 

“What?” Jeff presses up against the door. “Are you all right?” 

“Please, father!” _Pound, pound, pound._ “I need confession. I know it’s late, I’m sorry, but I need it, please!” 

Jeff closes his eyes in relief. Nobody is dead. It’s just one student in crisis, something Jeff has seen before. “It’s all right,” he says. “We can talk. Just— ” he turns the knob, preparing to open the door, and the student throws his weight against the door to keep it closed. 

“ _Don’t look at me!_ ” 

It’s right in that moment, when the student is so desperate not to be known, that Jeff recognizes the voice. 

_Derek Hale_. 

St. Cecilia’s golden boy. 

Fear licks at Jeff’s stomach again. 

“All right,” he calls through the door, trying to keep his voice even. “I won’t look. Go to the booth and I’ll meet you there once I get dressed.” 

Derek moans in relief. “Thank you, father.” 

“That’s what I’m here for, son.” Jeff keeps his ear pressed against the door until Derek’s footsteps fade away, and then he hurries for his robe. As he dresses himself, he feeds himself little crumbs of comfort. It’s just another student too young to know that nothing can break him permanently. Jeff can’t imagine what could possibly be weighing on Derek’s Hale’s soul so heavily that he would need confession at one in the morning, but it’s nothing to lose his mind over. Some little teenage drama blown out of proportion, surely. Fear over approaching graduation. Stress piled on him by his father. 

There is protocol for this sort of thing, and Jeff is trained to know it. Derek does not need a friend or a principal. He needs a priest. 

That’s Jeff’s job, and he does it well. 

Derek Hale is going to be fine. 

# 

This is Derek’s terrible secret, one he has never confessed to anyone on earth or in Heaven. 

On the night of the fire, he had been a coward. 

He had simply walked outside when the fire alarm blared, assuming that it was just a mistake and his family would be joining him soon. 

Then he waited. Even when he saw the orange glow upstairs, he just kept standing in the cool night air, wondering what was taking his family so long. He didn’t know that the electrical fire had stared upstairs, trapping his parents in their bedroom and racing down the hall, so when the children touched the doorknobs their fingers were scalded. They were all so young, and, with the exception of Cora and Mia, they did what they thought was right. The backed away from the hot doors and huddled together. They stopped, dropped, and rolled long before the fire ever touched them, as they tried to remember what they had learned in class about fire safety 

Jesse tried to break down the door of the master bedroom, only to find the hallway an inferno. Talia pounded on the window, the window that faced towards the woods, not the one Derek could have seen through. The only window facing Derek was the one in the nursery, and it was too far up for him to see Holly standing in her crib bawling in fear at the sound of the alarm. 

Derek didn’t know. 

It was five minutes before the firefighters arrived, and by that point the fire had spread to the downstairs. They had attempted to go inside, but when they opened the front door heat had blasted out at them and the ground creaked and swayed under their feet. 

It spread so quickly that the hoses did nothing and as Derek stared around he realized what was going to happen. 

They were going to let his family die. 

So he slipped out of the arms of the police and ran inside the house, ignoring the people screaming at him that he was running towards certain death. 

Once he was inside he was blinded by smoke. The heat wrapped around him, smothering him angrily, and every breath scraped his throat. He was terrified. As he stumbled around, trying to find the door, he touched Cora’s hand completely by accident. She grabbed him and he pulled her out, until they were finally back outside. He tripped over something. It must have been Mia. They found her later only inches from the door. 

As the paramedics ran to take her a policeman grabbed Derek and held him, shouting in his ear that he couldn’t go back for anyone else. The structure was already giving way. He wouldn’t survive a second time inside. 

Derek was young, strong, and desperate. He knew as soon as the man’s arms locked around him that he could easily tear free and run back inside. 

But he thought of the smoke. The way fire had already destroyed the living room. The ruined face of the sister he had just saved. 

Instead of breaking free and dying with his family, Derek simply pretended to struggle in the man’s arms. He screamed at the top of his aching lungs. He drew in ragged breath after ragged breath, all the while knowing that only a few feet away Jesse was taking his last breath, baby Holly was taking her last breath, his mother was taking her last breath…and yet Derek breathed on. He stayed outside until it was over, like a child, like a coward. 

He loved his family with all his heart, he truly did. 

But he wouldn’t burn. 

Not even for them. 

# 

The priest does not take very long before he is sliding into the confessional booth. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, so he will not make out Derek’s face through the screen, and Derek is enormously grateful. 

“I’m here son,” Father Jeff says. “I’m listening to you. Begin.” 

Derek places his fingers against the screen. “Father, forgive me,” he says. “I have sinned.” 

_I am a liar._

 _I am a coward._

 _

And yet you will say that this is not the worst of me.

_

“There’s something different about me, Father. I’ve tried to fight it…I’ve tried to change…but I can’t anymore.” 

“Different?” 

Derek tries to say it, but the words choke in his throat. “I’m…I’m…” 

“It’s all right, son. You’re safe here.” 

“That word, Father. I can’t say it, but…it’s all I can think about. I never wanted to be this way, because I’ve always thought… _I know what the Bible says_ …” Derek clutches at his chest. “If my father knew he would never be able to look at me again, and I can't, I don't want to fail...Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?” 

Jeff takes a long, long time to answer. “Yes.” 

Derek nearly collapses. 

“You don’t have to say it,” Father Jeff says quietly. 

“I tried to fight it, Father, but I don’t know anymore if I’m supposed to. It’s turned me into someone God doesn’t want me to be. I’ve hurt people, and I’ve lied, and…” 

_And when I’m with Stiles, when I’m with him…that’s when I’m closest to God._

“And I just want to feel love, Father.” Derek closes his eyes before tears can blur the walls of the booth around him. 

Father Jeff is so slow to answer that Derek begins to worry he has fallen asleep. “What are you asking me, child?” 

Derek clasps his hands against the screen. “With the world the way it is, and doctrine being interpreted different ways, do you think that maybe it’s okay? That God made me this way, and he wants me to follow His path towards love?” 

When Jeff finally answers, each word is slow and tortured. “That’s…not…something I can answer for you. You have to take that to God.” 

Derek freezes. 

No. 

He’s can’t leave here tonight without an answer. 

“You have to tell me,” he begs. 

“You should pray…” 

“No! You need to tell me!” 

“Everything you say here is confidential. I’ll keep your secret. But you should go and keep this to yourself…” 

“No, no…” 

“You’re so young. You have so much time…” 

Derek thinks he can understand the answer behind those words, but he will not leave without hearing it out loud. “Tell me if I can have both. Tell me if I’m okay!” When Jeff doesn’t answer, Derek’s emotions boil over. He strikes against the screen, making the booth shake. “ _Tell me!”_

# 

It takes everything in Jeff’s power not to turn and look at the boy on the other side of the booth. 

_Derek Hale._ That perfect student, always in Mass, always ready to volunteer as an altar boy. How could he have missed this? 

Another homosexual in Jeff’s parish. 

And good God, he roomed with Stiles Stilinski. That can only mean…right under Jeff’s nose… 

Jeff is young, for a priest. He is tolerant. He believes that love is an absolute and should never be denied. 

But he is not _Jeff Davis_ right now. He is a priest. A priest who has already been taken to task by the higher-ups for how he handled the Stiles Stilinski situation. He should have been harsher on the boy, according to his superiors. He should have made sure the other students felt _safe_. Did he have any ideas how many complaints they received from parents? The donor list has already shrunk, and that was just the ramifications of one average boy. 

Derek Hale cannot be gay. Even if it is true; even if people might accept it; even if Father Jeff thinks that it is absolutely fine. It is unacceptable. 

Jeff has people he has to answer to, just like everyone else. 

The screen separating them rattles. Derek is nearing hysteria, lashing out with his feet and fists. “Tell me,” he cries. “Tell me if I’m okay!” 

Jeff closes his eyes, caught between his duty and his heart. 

# 

“ _Tell me!_ ” Derek cries again. His voice is almost edging on a scream, something he hasn’t felt since the night of the fire. He strikes against the screen over and over, as if he will shake the walls loose and make the entire booth crumble to the ground. 

“Derek,” the priest pleads, and neither of them even notice that he has just revealed he knows who his penitent is. 

“Tell me!” Derek draws his foot back for one more kick when an answer finally comes, firm and cold and decisive: 

“ _No_.” 

Derek slides off the bench and sinks into a huddle on the floor. 

“The Bible is clear.” Jeff’s voice is flint and steel, all of his usual warmth hidden away. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear from me. You know, in your heart, what the truth is.” When Derek doesn’t answer, he continues. “You’re so young, with so much ahead of you. You can fight this. The Church will be behind you.” 

Derek swears he can feel his heartbeat slow to a stop. 

“You’re going to be fine.” Jeff’s hands press against the screen now, as if he wants to reach through and pat Derek on the back. “Your past does not have to be your future. Whatever has been done can be forgiven. You know that God loves you.” 

_I thought He did._

“Derek.” Jeff’s voice is so gentle it hurts. “You can be forgiven.” 

Somehow Derek forces himself to nod. He makes himself sit up and act human. He says the words Father Jeff needs to hear and then he waits until Father Jeff leaves and goes back to bed. 

He cannot pray, not even in this holy space. For a long, long time, he cannot even think, and then suddenly that’s _all_ he can do. 

Derek thinks about Stiles and God and his dead family and his living family. He thinks about Lydia and the possibility of a baby. He thinks about Jackson and the shocked faces of his classmates. 

And he thinks, _I don’t want to be forgiven._

 _I just want to be free._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're thinking, "What I really need after this chapter is to have my heart ripped out and stomped on with glass-tipped boots," here's the Bare song that's equivalent to this chapter, which I consider to be one of the most affecting and heartbreaking performances ever on stage: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xJcUAvVxZq4
> 
> Also I just recently noticed that the original cast performance of Bare has been taken off of Youtube, which, as a Bare originalist, I find COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE. So I uploaded my copy for you: http://www.filedropper.com/bare-therockoperapart1directedbykristinhanggi (Act One) and http://www.filedropper.com/bare-therockoperapart2directedbykristinhanggi (Act Two). If you've never used File Dropper before, just paste the link into your search bar, click "Download this File," prove you're not a robot, and it's yours! Totally safe, I promise. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm sorry about all the angst, but I promise we're just about done. Speaking of which, I'm probably going to be deviating from my "every other day" posting schedule for the next chapter. It's a big one, and I'm not entirely sure where I want it to end, and I want to make sure I get it right. So I'm thinking I'll probably see you back here next Tuesday? Fingers crossed! And after that it's just a few chapters of wrap-up and we're done here.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's left kudos or comments, it means a lot <3


	14. The Music is Gone Now, the Silence is Strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, all, for sticking with me as I got this monster finished. Trigger warning in the end notes.

“We have an hour and a half until we open, people.” Sister Marin stands in the middle of the chaotic stage, hands on her hips. “Are my leads mic’ed?” 

“Everyone but Romeo,” calls Brian, head of the tech crew. 

“I’m here.” Derek steps through the back doors of the auditorium. He watches as everyone turns to look at him, a scandalized quiet spreading across the room. 

“Finally.” Sister Marin quickly descends the stage and marches to the back of the theater. “I need you mic’ed, dressed, and ready for sound check fifteen minutes ago.” 

“Okay.” 

“Derek.” Sister Marin lowers her voice and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know what exactly happened after I left yesterday.” 

Derek meets her gaze without flinching. 

“But I hope you know that if you ever need to talk to anyone, about anything…I’m here.” Her touch feels caring, almost like a mother’s would. “You know that, right?” 

“I already talked to Father.” 

“Oh. Oh!” Sister Marin removes her hand, frowning a little. “And you’re doing okay?” 

Derek nods. 

“Well, that’s good.” Sister Marin studies his face, unconvinced. “God is love, right?” she says finally. 

“God is love,” Derek parrots. 

“Now hurry up and get ready. We’ve got a show to do.” 

Derek allows himself to be mic’ed by the techies, senior boys who have all clearly heard about what happened. The one who tapes his mic into place runs his hands suggestively under Derek’s shirt as though he isn’t even afraid of Derek, the way everyone has been ever since he punched out a bully in eighth grade who was throwing spitballs at Stiles. Normally Derek would have spun around and made him regret his mistake. Now he just ignores the snickers. 

He wonders if they did the same thing to Stiles. Probably. There’s a simmering hostility in the air that a part of him can’t help but understand: one gay boy on his own is no threat; just a little oddity, the school’s collective pet. But _two_ gay boys, fucking in secret? Actively sinning with each other, and then asking for acceptance? Using and discarding the hottest girl in school; lying out loud? That’s a few steps too far. St. Cecelia’s well of tolerance has run dry. 

So he’s ruined everything for Stiles now, too. 

Derek is exhausted by his own thoughts. He’s spent the entire day holed up in his room, staring at his phone, feeling sicker by the minute as it stayed quiet. Nobody texted or called. Nobody knocked on his door. He desperately wanted to just stay in his room all night and forget about the show, but in the end he dragged himself out of bed. He should be here. It’s all the better to survey the wrecked remains of his life. 

Once his mic is in place he heads towards the stage. Conversations stop short as he walks by, and there are a few half-muffled laughs, all of which he ignores. Cora is standing alone near the steps at the stage. Her eyes meet Derek’s, and then she looks away. 

He takes the stairs on the opposite side. 

Lydia is at the props table. She is already dressed in a flowing white gown, her hair neatly arranged under a prayer cap. Derek studies her for a minute. She looks angelic, pure. She should. She _is_. If Derek could, he would erase himself from her life, scrub out the stain of his actions. “Lydia,” he says. 

She doesn’t turn around. “I’m not pregnant.” 

Derek knows he should feel relieved, but he doesn’t feel anything. “That’s good,” he says numbly. 

“Yes.” She moves stiffly and brushes past him. “I would have killed myself before I gave birth to your baby. Don’t ever fucking talk to me again.” 

Derek also knows that should hurt him, but he just stands there, letting her put as much distance between them as she needs. 

And then he sees Stiles, testing the weight of a prop sword. He’s already dressed in his flowing tunic, face illuminated by just a bit of stage makeup. 

Derek’s legs carry him over before he can even think about it. 

“Stiles?” 

Stiles winces as soon as he hears Derek’s voice. “Shouldn’t you be getting changed?” 

Derek considers each word before he says it. Even his thoughts are moving slowly today. “I talked to Father last night. I told him about me.” 

Stiles’s jaw drops. “You _did?_ ” When Derek nods, just the slightest bit of hope changes Stiles’s face. “What did he say?” 

Derek hesitates, and then shakes his head. 

Stiles’s face falls. “Oh.” He turns back to his sword, jabbing it through the air. 

Just looking at him cracks the ice around Derek’s soul. “Stiles,” he says, “I’m sorry.” 

Stiles exhales heavily but otherwise doesn’t react. 

“I fucked up. I fucked up so badly I don’t even know what to do.” 

Stiles keeps his eyes on his sword. “What do you want from me, Derek?” 

Derek swallows. He knows that he wants Stiles to look at him. He wants Stiles to move into his arms and rest his head against Derek’s heartbeat. He wants. He _needs_. 

“Stiles,” he says, “Run away with me.” 

Stiles breathes out a laugh. 

“I mean it.” Derek stumbles forward and clasps Stiles’s hand. “We can leave tonight. I have money. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. We’ll escape all of it, together.” 

“No, Derek.” 

“We’ll drive all the way to Notre Dame and get our apartment early. We can finally have a bed big enough for us both.” 

“Derek…” 

“I’ll take you to Martha’s Vineyard,” Derek pleas. “We’ll sneak on the ferry and go to my dad’s place.” His voice cracks. “I’ll buy you peach soda. I’ll take you canoeing.” 

“Derek, stop.” Stiles presses his hand against Derek’s chest to keep him from coming any closer. “I’m not hiding anymore. I don’t have to, and I don’t want to.” He shakes his head. The light from the stage sparkles through his darkened eyelashes, almost as though he is starting to cry— but his eyes are dry now. He’s used up enough of his tears on Derek. “This is what’s different about us. You’re always looking for an escape, and I’m just trying to stand my ground.” 

“We can leave right now,” Derek tries, even though he knows he’s already lost. 

“Der.” The nickname slips out like an endearment, and Stiles closes his eyes until it passes. “It’s over.” 

“Leads on stage for mic check!” Sister Marin calls. Stiles walks away, towards the bright light of the stage. Derek stands alone for several moments before he follows. 

“Okay, guys,” calls the lead techie from the back. “Just pick a line and we’ll adjust the levels as needed. Go down the row there. Start with Juliet.” 

Lydia’s voice booms out over the speakers. “Oh serpent’s heart, hid with a flowering face!” 

“Great. Benvolio?” 

“Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.” 

“You’re still pronouncing ‘tyrannous’ wrong, Scott,” Sister Marin calls. 

“Mercutio?” 

“A plague on both your houses, I am spent.” 

“Romeo? Romeo?” 

Derek jerks out of his stupor. “Sorry,” he says, wincing when there’s a screeching report of feedback over the speakers. 

“Just say a line, please.” The techie’s voice is exasperated. How long has he kept them waiting? Long enough that he sees he’s the only person left on stage. 

Derek stares into the stage lights until he only sees blackness. “My life were better ended by their hate than death proroguèd, wanting of thy love.” 

“House is opening!” Sister Marin calls. “Check your props. We meet in the chorus room in forty-five minutes. 

# 

Derek moves backstage dreamily. He still needs to get dressed and put on his makeup, but he doesn’t want to face the boys in the practice-room-turned-dressing-room. They won’t want to get changed around him. He doesn’t dare even sneak in to get his costume. 

He sees Allison by herself near the curtain. “Allison?” he says carefully as he approaches her. 

Her eyes widen. “Derek! Hey!” 

“Did you tell Chris?” he asks bluntly. 

Her smile flickers and fades. “No. I didn’t. I didn’t tell anyone.” 

Derek exhales in relief. 

“But…someone told him, Derek. He called me about four hours ago to see if it was true.” Allison looks incredibly sad as she gazes at her half-brother. “I didn’t lie, but I told him he should talk to you about it.” 

“What did he say?” 

She chews her lip. “He hung up.” 

Derek nods, accepting the blow. “Is he coming tonight?” 

“He was supposed to, but I don’t know now. He was pretty upset.” 

Chris knew that his son was gay, but he didn’t call. He didn’t text. He didn’t even show up at Derek’s door. Derek thought there would be nothing more awful in the world than Chris taking his fury out on Derek, but this immediate, complete cutting off is much worse. To Chris, Derek is not even worth saving. 

Chris might be out in the theater right now, picking his way to his seat with Victoria. Derek imagines him opening his program. The woman in the seat next to him excitedly pointing to Derek’s name after “Romeo” and asking, _“That’s your son, isn’t it?”_

And Chris’s cold response: “ _No._ ” 

Derek begins to stagger away from Allison. She reaches out and snags his sleeve. “Wait,” she says. “Derek, we’ve never been close. I don’t really know why. But, I just want you to know…” her lip is chewed ragged, but she still manages to smile at him. “I’ve always been really proud to have you as a big brother.” 

One part of his brain registers it as a compliment. The other, beat-down part, wonders if Allison is just trying to say that the pride she felt before is gone now, and this is her way of jabbing in the knife. It almost feels better, to believe that. It’s easier to have nothing than bare-bones. 

He walks away from Allison without a word. 

Matt Daehler is on stage crew and Derek watches with sick dread as he approaches Stiles. “Hey, Stilinski,” he hisses, obviously worried about Sister Marin overhearing. “When you and Hale fuck, who’s the girl?” 

There are a few shocked intakes of breath and quiet, scandalized giggles. Derek stands alone, shaking. 

“I figured you, but come on, tell us…does Hale cry when he gets fucked? What does he call you? Baby? Sweetheart?” Derek looks around, but Scott, Isaac, and Boyd, who would normally be shutting this down, are nowhere in sight. “Hey, let’s see your dick, so we know why Hale decided _you_ should be his fucktoy.” 

“Don’t you fucking touch him,” Derek snarls when Matt springs forward. His heartbeat elevates as his hands curl into fists. This is what he needs. To pound Matt into the ground; to prove to Stiles that Derek is still protecting him; to remind everyone that he may be gay but he’s still _Derek Hale_. 

“Make me, gayboy.” Daehler is delighted when he turns to Derek and Derek realizes that this is exactly what he wanted. “Go on,” he taunts. “Send me to the nurse like you did Whittemore, protect your girlfriend. You've always been fucking crazy, and now we know why. This is why they say you fags are _animals_.” 

Derek freezes. 

It’s Stiles who defuses the situation. “Don’t be an asshole, Matt,” he says, sounding downright bored as he steps away. “Just because neither of us would fuck you with a ten-foot-pole…” 

The laughs are a little louder for him. 

“Hey, if that’s how you queers like it,” Matt says, but he knows he’s lost the upper ground. 

“How we like it is none of your fucking business.” Stiles’s voice sharpens. “Careful, Matt. You stay so obsessed with us and people are going to start asking why.” 

Matt blanches. “Whatever,” he mutters, before slinking away. Stiles watches him go, then turns and disappears out the side door. 

Derek swallows hard as the crowd disperses. He can’t just threaten or punch out anyone who tries to taunt him and Stiles. Violence doesn’t fix homophobia, only words can…and Derek has never been good with words. 

He can’t protect Stiles anymore. Stiles doesn’t even need him. 

There’s only one person left backstage, and he stops short when he sees Derek. Jackson and Derek stare at each other for a long few seconds. He’s tried to hide his black eye with stage makeup and his nose looks flattened. Derek thought it would be satisfying, but he only feels sick as he takes in the sight. 

_This is all you ever leave behind— blood, pain, broken things._

He looks away in shame until Jackson is gone. 

There’s nobody left for him to talk to, nobody he can turn to for comfort or help. Stiles is gone. Chris is gone. Cora is gone. God is gone. He is surrounded by people who want nothing to do with him, their whispers slowly forming an endless cacophony inside his head. 

Everybody wanted to be Derek Hale, and now nobody does. 

Especially not Derek Hale. 

# 

He sneaks out through the back door of the theater. 

The halls are deserted, as he knew they would be. 

Posters for tonight’s opening line the hallways. _Romeo and Juliet: Part Tragedy. All Love Story._ Someone has defaced a few of them by crossing out _Juliet_ and writing in _Romeo_ again, then crossing out _love_ and writing in _fag_. He rips them down and throws them away. Stiles shouldn’t have to see them. 

He worked as an office aide last semester, and they haven’t changed the key code yet. The light buzzes green and lets him in. 

They hide the master key for the lockers in the second drawer of the secretary’s desk. They’ve never used it, and they likely never will. Privacy is important for students. 

The only hiccup comes when he can’t remember the right locker number for a minute. Then, with a rush of relief— the first thing he’s felt all day— it comes back to him. 169. She had laughed about it at lunch. 

He counts down the row with his finger until he reaches it. 

She keeps everything here. Her roommate wasn’t comfortable with her storing it in their room, and the lockers are never searched. 

The door to Erica’s locker swings open to reveal a neatly-ordered pharmacy. 

Here’s Propofol, in a syringe designed like an Epi-Pen, easy for novices to use. 

Here’s delayed-release Vicodin, still in the orange prescription bottle. 

The needle only stings a little. The pills are harder, as he tries to choke them down without water. He reads the bottle, but it doesn’t tell him how long the delayed release on the Vicodin is. 

He planned to wait in his room, but his feet carry him back to the auditorium. The Vicodin may be delayed-release, but the Propofol streaks through his bloodstream immediately, blurring colors and narrowing his sensations down to a point. He’s flying low to the ground, hovering in his own body. 

Most of the students have already migrated to the practice room to wait, but a few are still milling around backstage, checking props and peering through the curtain. Stiles is talking to Scott over in a dark corner, marking the steps of the swordfight. Derek stays in the dark shadows, watching them, until Scott claps Stiles on the back and walks away. 

As Derek stands alone it rushes through him. The full weight of what he has just done crushes him as he realizes that this is the last time he will ever see Stiles. 

Is this really the ending? How did he get here, and where will he be in an hour? He’s shaking as he suddenly becomes unmoored from everything, even his own despair. He doesn’t know why this is happening to him, but he knows that he can’t leave things the way they are with Stiles. 

He stumbles over to Stiles and grabs him from behind, burying his face in his neck. 

Stiles stiffens. “Derek— Jesus—you have to stop. _Please_.” But he stands still and doesn’t shake Derek off, and that’s enough. 

“I know.” Derek takes a deep breath. “I’ll leave you alone soon, I promise. You were right. I shouldn’t have tried to make you hide. I’ll never get in your way again. I just had to tell you something.” 

Stiles gives a world-weary sigh and waits. 

Please. Just this once…let me find the words. 

“You saved my life.” 

Stiles turns, ever-so-slightly. 

“The day they moved me into your dorm room was the luckiest day of my life. If I hadn’t met you, I wouldn’t be here. I was so lost, then. I had nothing. And then I was lucky enough to have you. Thank God my father decided to send me to St. Cecelia’s. Thank God you and Scott McCall broke Sister Harriet’s leg.” Derek’s breath ghosts across the back of Stiles’s neck, raising tiny hairs. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

Derek knows what should happen now. Stiles should push him away and ask, then, why Derek would discard the best thing in his life. He should storm off and leave Derek alone. It would be the fair response. Derek will understand. 

But Stiles has always been better than Derek could be. 

Stiles has always been the sort who can forgive, and love stubbornly, even when his brain is telling him to stop. 

And so Derek, thanks to the endless miracle that is Stiles Stilinski, gets one last miracle to take with him. Stiles grabs Derek’s hand, wrapping Derek even tighter around him. “It was the day you found your shirt under my pillow and kissed me,” he says. Derek can feel him trembling. “That’s when _you_ saved _me_.” 

Derek closes his eyes, dizzied with relief that he is allowed to have this moment with his beloved. “I was never happier than when I found that shirt.” 

“I stole it back, later. It’s still under my pillow at home.” 

“I should have told you then, but I’ll tell you now.” Derek pulls away from Stiles so Stiles can turn to look at him. “I love you,” he says. His eyes are wet, but he’s smiling. “I love you, Stiles, I love you. I have loved you since the beginning. I will love you until the end.” He rests his forehead against Stiles’s. “ _I love you._ Don’t forget. No matter what happens, promise me you’ll always remember that out of all the lies, this was the one true thing— that I always loved you…” 

Stiles’s face transforms. “Oh, God, Derek.” His palms touch Derek’s and the contact is almost too much for Derek’s abused mind. “I love you.” 

And there’s nothing more Derek can ask for, than to hear that one last time. 

They kiss. Stiles is frantic with joy, and Derek is desperate with grief. “I love you,” he repeats, over and over between kisses. “I love you. I love you.” They should have had a lifetime together for Derek to fill with those words, so he repeats them now, saying it enough to last. In the moments when he’s kissing Stiles and can’t speak, Derek thinks of everything else he wishes he could say: 

_I’m ruined. Damaged. Broken beyond repair._

 _But you— you’ve managed to survive, and get stronger where they tried to break you._

 _

So you stay here. Live the way you deserve to live. 

Make this world a little better. 

Because you’ve always been the superhero, Stiles.

_

“God, I love you,” he says again. Tremors are ripping through his body and he burrows into Stiles as if the smaller boy can protect him from what’s coming. 

“Guys…guys?” 

They break apart to see Scott McCall standing a few feet away, staring at them incredulously. 

“What, Scott?” Stiles gasps, adjusting his tunic and blushing fiercely. Derek still grips his hand, afraid to let go. 

“Sister Marin sent me to get you. She’s ready for her director’s speech.” 

Stiles hesitates. “We…God, okay.” He looks up at Derek. “We can finish, um, what we were talking about later?” 

“Later,” Derek echoes. 

“We have a lot to figure out.” 

“Yes.” 

Stiles steps away, still holding Derek’s hand. Derek stands still and Stiles looks back at him. 

“We shouldn’t keep her waiting.” 

“I’m not dressed yet.” Derek releases Stiles’s hand and gestures down at his street clothes. “You go tell her that I’m coming and I’ll see you in there.” 

Stiles searches Derek’s face as if instinct is warning him not to leave. “Are you sure?” 

Derek nods. 

“Okay. See you soon.” Stiles looks back and forth between Scott and Derek for a minute, and then he steps back quickly to give Derek one more kiss. “Break a leg.” 

“You too.” 

Stiles and Scott walk towards the stage door. At the last moment Stiles hesitates and looks back. 

Derek forces himself to smile until Stiles finally turns away and follows Scott out the door. 

Then, once he is alone again, he lets out his breath in a single pained whimper. 

The Vicodin is taking effect now. He can feel it working through his body, slowing his system. He sways where he stands and dreamily he moves towards the back of the stage, towards the large open space where old set pieces are stored. It’s dark and warm and he finds a quiet corner in which he can wedge himself. 

He can’t believe how much it hurts. It was supposed to be gentler than this, but his body is trying to fight the medications and it won’t give up like it should. He yelps without meaning to as his heart seems to seize in his chest. 

That can’t happen again. He doesn’t want anyone to hear him. 

Luckily, Derek knows how to be quiet. 

He bites the fabric of his shirt and chokes on his own cries. 

The world is darkening now, and it scares him, so he closes his eyes. Just like going to sleep. If he tries hard he can almost imagine that Stiles is snoring softly from across the room. It becomes true: he is in their bedroom and Stiles is snoring. The sound will lull him to sleep, and if he has a nightmare he knows Stiles will wake him up and crawl into bed with him and curl up against his chest. 

He’s not in his room. Is he? Where is he? Where is Stiles? 

Shh, a soft, fading voice supplies from somewhere deep inside. _You’re safe. Stiles knows that you love him. You’ve done all you can. Don’t be afraid._

And, just like that, he’s not. 

As his brain begins to give up the fight he sees flashes of his life as if his mind if unfurling into nothingness, releasing its memories into the air: 

Here is Derek holding baby Holly for the first time, transfixed at her tiny fingers. 

Here is Derek standing at the football awards podium junior year receiving an All-American trophy, watching Chris cheer from the crowds while his mouth forms the words, _“That’s my son!_ ” 

Here is Derek playing Hungry Hungry Hippos with Stiles, arguing over a clear rules violation. 

Here is Derek driving to Sonic with Cora and Allison, screaming along to the Top Forty on the radio. 

Here is Derek sitting with his friends, cocooned in a tight blanket of affection. 

Here is Derek waiting for Stiles on the first day of junior year with a heart like a drum. 

Here is Derek crawling into Cora’s hospital bed after the fire, promising that he will always protect her. 

Here is Derek kissing Stiles, praying that this one happiness he will be able to keep. 

Here is Derek at the bottom of a puppy pile of his siblings, sick with laughter as they screech on top of him. His mother is holding Holly, watching, laughing at the top of her lungs, and he is loved. He is loved. He is so loved. 

Here he is. 

There he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DETAILED WARNING: Derek, feeling completely alienated from Stiles, his friends, and his family, purposefully overdoses on Vicodin and Propothol. He says goodbye to Stiles and retreats backstage to die. The chapter ends as he falls unconscious.
> 
> #
> 
>  
> 
> I promise this is the last time I’ll foist a Bare song on you, but if you only watch one this should be it: the title song, which is basically that last conversation between Derek and Stiles. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bN7CeyxTSDU
> 
>  
> 
> #
> 
>  
> 
> NEXT UP: Jackson notices that Derek is missing.


	15. In the Silence Will He Stay?

Stiles can still feel the ghost of Derek’s kiss as he stands in the choir room with his cast mates. Sister Marin is giving her speech, all big hand gestures and dramatic eye rolls, but he isn’t paying any attention. 

He made himself a promise last night that he wouldn’t go back to Derek, a promise sworn to Scott and Isaac with the last gulp of his fifth Blue Moon. He knew then that it was the right decision, but that was before Derek finally said what Stiles has always wanted to hear. 

And, more than that, he had meant it. 

Stiles closes his eyes so he can better remember the look on Derek’s face when he had said he loved Stiles. He looked _changed_ , almost frantic. As if he needed to have it said right then and there. 

Stiles had meant it when he told Derek he couldn’t love a fiction anymore. He knows better than anyone that sometimes a fiction can overtake a truth, until living a lie is a comfortable second skin. Somewhere along the way, Stiles lost sight of which Derek was real and which was the invention. 

But that was before the kiss. That was before _I love you._

The Derek who had called Stiles a faggot in the practice room and slept with Lydia and slunk in the hallways without meeting Stiles’s eyes; that boy wasn’t real. Not like the Derek Stiles has just left backstage, or the Derek Stiles knew in their dorm room. The Derek who was just holding Stiles a few minutes was stripped bare, naked right to his pure, honest core. 

And if Stiles can have that Derek…the Derek who isn’t afraid to say _I love you_ … 

And he can also have the Derek who spends hours watching dumb Netflix shows curled up in bed with Stiles… 

And he can also have the Derek who is too smart for his own good, and darkly sarcastic, and fiercely protective, and has a soul with a thousand shades of black but is somehow still the brightest Stiles has known… 

Maybe Stiles is ready to forgive again, after all. 

The cast gives Sister Marin her director’s gift— a basket of Lush bath bombs. Everyone had to chip in fifteen dollars for it, which is outrageous, but they all agreed she deserved it. Sister Marin exclaims appropriately over it and formally forgives all of them for taking ten years off her life, and finally calls everyone into a circle for the pre-show prayer. 

That’s when Jackson suddenly speaks up: 

“Where’s Derek?” 

The room falls silent as everyone looks around, realizing belatedly that Romeo is missing. “Oh, shit,” someone mutters. “He did a runner.” 

“He needed to get changed,” Stiles says, trying not to blush as everyone eys him questioningly. “He said he was going to the dressing room and he’d be here soon.” 

Jackson frowns. “I just went to the dressing room to get the director’s gift. He wasn’t there.” 

“We have five minutes until we start,” Sister Marin snaps, all her post-gift softness gone immediately. “Go find him and take your places. Make sure someone tells me as soon as he’s found so I know we don’t need to hold the curtain. I’m going to the booth. Maybe he had a mic issue.” 

“What about the prayer?” someone asks. 

Marin snorts. “Oh, honey. As if prayer could save us now.” 

# 

Stiles goes backstage with everyone else. He’s not really worried— Derek wouldn’t bail on the cast this way. That’s just not who Derek Hale is. He probably has stage fright and is hiding out somewhere so nobody will see him panic. 

Honestly, the thought is kind of adorable. 

Great. He’s already back to thinking about Derek in terms like _adorable_. No willpower whatsoever. Another sideways look from Derek and Stiles will probably start planning their wedding again. 

He got a packet from Notre Dame this morning telling him he’d been accepted. At the time he’d wanted to throw it away and wait for his safety school. Notre Dame was part of the old dream, he’s thought. But now, maybe it doesn’t have to be. If Derek’s ready, if he’s past his fear and ready to be out-and-proud, they could always get that apartment… 

A sudden, shrill scream shatters the air around him. For a crazy second, his instinct is to spin around and shush whoever doesn’t have the common sense to know that cast and crew are supposed to be quiet backstage. 

“ _Oh, God, no! Someone help me!_ ” 

The voice is unmistakably Cora Hale’s and Stiles freezes where he stands. 

You don’t scream like that unless something terrible has happened. 

He needs to tear his feet from where they have been rooted to the ground to run to the source of the screams. There’s a crowd gathered around the backstage storage pit, every single person either yelling or crying or pulling out their phones to call for help. The stage manager streaks past Stiles, shouting into her headset for Sister Marin. 

Stiles stays outside the ground of people. He doesn’t push through because he does not want to see. 

Something terrible has happened. 

Light floods the backstage. Sister Marin storms through, shouting at the students to get out of her way. She’s not filled with her false, loving brand of anger, or that incredible caring sweetness that comes out at the best of times. She’s a desperate, horrified mess, and her voice when she screams at the students to call for an ambulance is something Stiles could not have imagined. 

The crowd breaks apart, with students hugging and crying into each other’s shoulders. Allison is sobbing in Scott’s arms. Sister Marin is holding Cora. And on the ground, wedged into a corner by Cora… 

It’s Derek. 

It’s Derek. 

Stiles falls back against an old set piece. His heart jumps angrily in his chest. He can’t breathe. 

It’s Derek. 

His eyes are closed and his skin is ghostly white. He’s so still. Stiles knows what Derek looks like when he’s sleeping. Derek isn’t a still sleeper. 

He’s not sleeping. 

Pinprick eyes. Labored breathing. A frantic, desperate way about him as he kissed Stiles. 

Derek had been dying when he was with Stiles, and Stiles ( _you idiot, you fucking, fucking, fucking stupid idiot_ ) hadn’t had a clue. 

That _I love you_ hadn’t been a new beginning. 

He had been saying goodbye. 

“Is he dead?” Stiles whispers. He doesn’t expect to be heard, but Jackson Whittemore, slowly backing away from the group, hears. 

“There’s a pulse,” he says. His eyes are dull and sickened. “But it’s…it’s slow…I don’t know…” 

Stiles understands. 

Derek is still dying, and soon it will be too late. 

Things start moving very quickly then, and yet Stiles feels as though he is underwater, watching the world shimmer above him. Paramedics come and check his pulse and snap at the students and hoist Derek onto a stretcher, and, fuck, no, Derek doesn’t liked being touched by strangers. They start to wheel him away and Chris Argent breaks through the doors, crying. Stiles has never seen Chris Argent cry; could never have imagined it. “That’s my son!” he cries, collapsing by the stretcher. “ _That’s my son!”_

The paramedics tell him that he can ride in the ambulance with Derek. They keep asking questions: _”What’s his name? What did he take? Is he allergic to anything? Is he a drug user?”_ Stiles can hear them as they race Derek down the hall and to the ambulance, the questions streaming behind them like a comet’s tail. 

Cora tries to go after them and Sister Marin holds her back. “Sweetheart, you can’t,” she says. She’s crying, too. “We’ll get you to the hospital, don’t you worry, but you can’t go with him.” 

“I’ll drive you.” At some point Father Jeff has arrived. He looks just as horrified as everyone else, but he holds up his car keys with as much placidity as he can muster. “Cora, Allison, we’ll go to McKinley right now.” 

They’re going to Derek. 

Stiles finally manages to stumble away from his wall. “Wait,” he calls. His voice sounds strange. “Wait, I’m coming.” 

Father Jeff’s mouth flattens into a line. “Stiles…no. I can only take family.” 

Someone grabs Stiles’s hand. He turns to see Cora, staring at the Father. She’s cried off all her makeup and her scar, bright red and tear-streaked, seems to take up her entire face, but it’s her eyes that capture Stiles. They’re darker than he remembers, blazing even through her tears. _Look at that,_ Stiles thinks dazedly. _When did you become so beautiful?_

“He’s family,” she says fiercely. “He’s coming.” 

Father Jeff only hesitates for a second before he nods, and then Stiles is swept up with Cora and Ally as they race down the hall together. 

# 

Stiles stills feels like he hasn’t grasped the full reality of the situation until he rounds the corner of the William McKinley Emergency Hospital entrance hallway and sees Chris Argent standing in the middle of the entranceway, staring blankly down the hall. 

“Dad!” Allison runs to him. She stayed relatively calm during the drive to the hospital, while Cora sobbed and Stiles just stared out the window blankly, but now tears begin tracking down her face again. “Where is he?” 

“They took him away…they said his…his heart stopped beating. What he took slowed his heart, and his heart stopped in the ambulance. I think they started it again but they took him away so quickly I couldn’t ask. I heard his heart stop.” Chris Argent suddenly crumples forward and his wife leaps forward to help Allison catch him. 

“It’s all right, Chris.” Father Jeff hurries forward, shakily making the sign of the cross. “God’s with him.” 

_Or he’s with God._ Stiles swallows down bile. He can’t bear to think of Derek’s heart stopping. He knows that heartbeat. It was his lullaby most nights. It was always so strong, a steady, rhythmic thumping. It will come back. 

It has to come back. 

A nurse joins them and leads them to a waiting area. They all slump into cracked red leather chairs oozing yellow foam like blood. Chris Argent cannot stop crying, this temple of a man crumbling before their eyes. Cora leans into him, her entire body vibrating with her sobs. 

Stiles just stares ahead, slowly letting reality dissolve into him. 

They are waiting to learn if Derek is dead. 

Any minute a doctor will come and tell them and if Derek is dead Father Jeff will drive Stiles back to campus alone, because he is not family, and he does not have the privilege of saying goodbye. 

Nobody has said anything to him yet but he suddenly becomes afraid that Chris Argent will tunnel through grief to find anger, and that he will turn on Stiles, blaming him for what happened to Derek. At the thought of it Stiles really cannot breathe and he leaps up. “Air,” he gasps, though nobody but Father Jeff is looking at him. “I’ll be back.” 

He stumbles to the double doors at the front of the hospital. A part of him just wants to run back to campus, be swallowed up by the night so he does not have to hear that Derek is dead. _Run away with me_ Derek had said, and Stiles ( _you idiot, you fucking, fucking, fucking stupid idiot_ ) had said no. 

They could have run away together. 

Derek’s heart could be beating under Stiles’s ear right now, not jumping under electric prongs in a sterile hospital room. 

Stiles pushes open the doors and the world turns white. What seems like a thousand flashbulbs blind him, and voices shout unintelligible questions in his ear, until he feels like he has been turned upside-down. He cries out and covers his head from whatever attack this might be. 

If he had his wits about him he would realize that he’s been converged upon by reporters, but all he can think is that the world is ending. He won’t know until later that news has already spread to every reporter within a fifty-mile radius, that the mayor’s son is gay and overdosed on drugs because his father wouldn’t accept him. He won’t know that the local news has already called an evangelical pastor and the leader of the local GLAAD chapter to battle out on camera just who is to blame for the attempted suicide of a boy neither of them know. He won’t know that Matt Daehler is currently giving a statement to the Daily Item about the broken idol that was Derek Hale— or, at least, he will try to, before Jackson Whittemore hauls off and punches him in front of the reporter. He won’t know any of these things until he opens the paper the next day to see his own face, outed to the world as the boy poor Derek Hale loved and lost, known only to newspaper readers as “Derek’s Romeo.” 

Because he doesn’t know he can only let those flashbulbs blind him, a taste of what dying must be like; a glimpse of what Derek might be experiencing right now. He curls into himself, tighter and tighter, feeling like he will collapse if it goes on any longer. Then someone grabs him and pulls him to safety, ensconcing him back in the sterile tomb of the emergency room, and Stiles looks up to see that Chris Argent has come to his rescue. 

“Thank you,” he gasps. The reporters stay where they are, trying to snap pictures through the glass. Security guards come running to keep them where they belong. 

Chris nods. “We have to stay together,” he says, an olive branch that Stiles accepts by returning with him to the waiting area. 

# 

They wait and they wait. 

Every so often someone goes to the entrance desk to ask for an update, only to be gently told that the doctor will come out when there is news. Chris turns to stone and Victoria simply prays a rosary, over and over, while Father Jeff hovers and tries to find a way to be useful. Finally a nurse tells them that they will likely be waiting for a while longer, and would they like to visit the chapel? 

“So it’s bad,” Allison says dully. “You only show the chapel to people who need prayer.” 

Jeff, Chris, Victoria and Allison go together, while Stiles and Cora stay behind. 

“It’s all my fault,” Cora says. She hasn’t stopped crying for a minute, but Stiles hasn’t been able to muster up the will to comfort her. 

“Of course it isn’t your fault.” 

“It is.” She takes a deep, quivery breath. “He tried to come out to me on Thanksgiving and I _stopped_ him.” 

Stiles shuts his eyes. _Oh, Derek._ “Why, Cora?” 

“I was scared.” Cora blows her nose in one of Chris’s handkerchiefs. “It’s not that I don’t love him, I just, I thought that Chris might throw him out of the house, and I knew how people at s-school would react and I just _panicked_. When you came out we were all happy for you, but…it was almost like we lost you, a little bit, because you had to deal with all of the fallout. I just wasn’t ready to lose my brother.” Her face reddens and she buries her nose in the handkerchief. “And now I really am going to lose him and it’s all my fault.” 

“He wouldn’t want you to think that way,” Stiles says, and immediately wants to throw up, because that’s what you say when someone’s dead and can’t speak for themselves. 

“God, why didn’t I say anything to him today? After last night, I thought he wouldn’t want to talk to me because I wasn’t there for him. I thought I’d have _time!_ ” Cora smacks the leather angrily. “I _hate_ myself; I fucking hate myself so much. I wish I were the one in there instead of Derek.” 

Stiles sits up. “Hey,” he snaps, anger pulsing through his shock. “Don’t you say that. Ever.” 

“I mean it. I deserve to be dead, not Derek.” 

“I mean it, Cora. Don’t ever fucking say that. You know how much your brother loves you? Huh?” Stiles grabs her by the shoulder, hard. “Neither of you deserves to be in there.” His voice catches. “Neither of you deserves to think you shouldn’t get to be alive.” 

Cora dissolves into tears again and Stiles has to swallow down a hard lump before he can continue. “So you fucked up. Stop self-flagellating, accept responsibility, and let it make you better. You and Derek are just the same, I swear.” 

“No,” she sobs. “He’s always been better than me. Everyone knows it. I’m just the…the fucked-up mess by his side. He’s the only one who ever saw me, and I had one chance, one fucking chance to be able to see him too.” She sinks against the chair, eyes two oceans of grief. “Oh, God, Stiles. If he dies, what am I going to do?” 

_If he dies,_ Stiles thinks, and she’s right: there’s no way to finish that sentence. 

“I don’t know.” Stiles buries his face in his hands and Cora cries on. 

# 

More waiting. 

Cora goes to the chapel with the rest of the Argents, leaving Father Jeff and Stiles alone. 

The priest sits across from Stiles and doesn’t make eye contact. A deep, uneasy silence falls. 

“He told me that he talked to you,” Stiles says finally. 

Father Jeff’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Yes. Last night.” 

“And you told him God wouldn’t love a homo.” Stiles wanted the words to come out acerbic, but they just fall flat. 

Father Jeff closes his eyes. “That’s not what I said.” 

“It’s what he heard.” Stiles can barely look at the priest. He has felt a simmering anger at Father Jeff ever since he came out and Jeff’s horror was evident. He didn’t show Stiles any hatred, but nor did he show him love. 

He’s a priest, damn it. A priest should only be filled with love. 

That’s what Derek needed. 

“I wish I’d realized that.” Jeff glances sideways at Stiles. “Genim, I never intended to make him despair. I wanted him to be comforted by the Word. I deeply regret the idea that our conversation might have led to this.” 

“You regret.” 

“Yes. Of course I do.” A single tear falls. “I wish he’d come and talked to me sooner. I knew him so well, but I didn’t know— ” 

“You didn’t know him.” Stiles is surprised by the sudden force of his anger. This must have been how Derek felt all the time— fury and despair just constantly warring in his heart. “You didn’t know how scared he was, or how brave. You didn’t know how much he loved me.” Stiles gasps as he realizes that somehow they’ve slipped into talking about Derek in the past tense. “He loves me,” Stiles repeats in a whisper. “You didn’t know that. You can’t even understand it.” 

“I can.” Father Jeff keeps staring away from Stiles while tears roll stoically down his cheeks. “Just…not when I’m in that booth.” 

“Then things will never change, as long as people like you are in charge.” Stiles keeps feeding his anger. It’s better than the aching grief waiting in the wings. 

“There are other people. And I’m sorry I can’t be one of them.” Jeff sighs and dashes away his tears. “Stiles, this conversation isn’t helping you. Please let me help you find peace tonight. I know you’re scared. I was just telling Chris that I know, if the worst happens, Derek will be welcomed by the Father. Suicide, under these circumstances, isn’t a mortal sin—” 

“So would you rather he died tonight?” The anger becomes a tidal wave. “Die clean rather than go on living as a homosexual? Is it better for him to give up this life just so he can get his second one?” 

“No, Stiles, no. That’s not what I meant. You think I _hate_ him? And you? I don’t, son.” 

“Love the sinner, hate the sin, right?” Stiles drops his voice when a nurse peers around the corner, scowling at the noise. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. You can’t love me and hate the way I live my life. You can’t say you love me when all I am is a _sinner_ to you.” He takes a deep breath, aware that his voice has started to tremble. “But I don’t care what you think about sin. I don’t care what you think about _me._ You are not my God. And I know that because God would have loved Derek, when Derek needed love.” He breaks then, just a little. “Derek needed love,” he repeats. 

_Derek needed me._

He knows that’s where his anger is coming from. Deep down, he’s furious at himself for letting this happen. He’s no better than Cora in that way. 

Should he have forgiven Derek sooner? Should he have waited to come out until Derek was ready? The thoughts are already crowding his brain, and what makes him want to scream is the knowledge that, if Derek dies, they will always be there. He will be asking those questions, trying to save Derek, for the rest of his life. 

Father Jeff finally looks at him. “Stiles,” he says, “Can you forgive me?” 

He should. 

Derek would. 

But he can’t say those words, not here. Not now. 

“You won’t forgive who I am,” he says. “How can I forgive what you’ve done?” 

Father Jeff takes the blow and nods. 

“If he lives, I’ll forgive you.” Stiles curls up in the chair and turns away. He doesn’t want to talk anymore. “I’ll decide if I hate you or not based on something that’s completely out of your control. We’ll see how you like it.” 

The leather squeaks as Father Jeff stands. “I truly am sorry.” He’s crying again; Stiles can hear it in his voice. “I’ll leave you alone now. Stiles, I’m so sorry.” 

Stiles closes his eyes and nods. Once Father Jeff is gone he lets out one hard sob and presses his face into the leather, waiting for it all to end. 

# 

They’re all back in the waiting room. There’s a sick sort of stillness in the air, an awareness that it won’t be too much longer now. 

Stiles cannot believe that only an hour ago he was fantasizing about what a life with Derek would be like, and now he is waiting to hear if Derek will have a life at all. 

Victoria is still counting her rosary silently and Allison just watches, mouthing the words to a Hail Mary. Cora has gone completely blank. They won’t survive waiting much longer. 

And then a doctor rounds the corner, and as soon as Stiles sees him he knows. 

It’s in the way he walks, the downward set of his mouth, the slump of his shoulders. 

Derek is dead. 

He _knows_ , and it destroys him. There will be no apartment at Notre Dame. No more _I love you_. No marriage, children, _forever_. At some point, while Stiles was yelling at Jeff or trying to comfort Cora or just trying to keep breathing in and out that soul that was Derek Hale left for good. 

Derek is dead. 

And almost as soon as Stiles realizes it he is feeling that anger again, and he thinks, _No._

 _God, not like this._

 _

It isn’t fair. 

He can’t leave like this, with so much still here for him. Not when he’s so alive. Not when I love him. 

He can’t be just another victim of hatred. They don’t get to win. 

He is not a statistic. 

He’s mine.

_

That last thought fills him with so much righteous fury he begins to shake, even before the doctor has opened his mouth, and he directs everything he has to a God he is not even sure he believes in any more: 

_YOU DON’T GET TO TAKE HIM. HE’S MINE._

The anger blinds him. The world turns white, and, for a minute, Stiles feels like he is being flipped upside down. 

His vision clears just as the doctor opens his mouth. “Mr. and Mrs. Hale?” 

Chris doesn’t correct him. “Yes?” 

There’s a pause the length of a heartbeat. 

“He’s going to be all right.” 

Cora bursts into tears so violently Stiles is certain he heard wrong. 

“It was touch and go. The drugs slowed his heartbeat down, and we were concerned about damage to the brain, but his heartrate is steady again and his vitals are strong. We currently have him in a medically induced coma, but we’ll bring him out of it tomorrow just to make sure there’s no neurological damage.” 

“He’s all right?” Chris repeats. He’s crying again too. “My boy’s all right?” 

“Yes, Mr. Hale. You can see him whenever you’d like.” 

Allison sweeps Stiles up in a hug. “Oh, thank God,” she sobs into his shoulder. “Thank God, thank God.” 

“Thank God,” Stiles agrees. He doesn’t understand. He _knew_ that Derek was dead. It was written all over the doctor’s face. 

But what does that matter? _Derek is alive_. Stiles feels the numbness in his body start to fade, replaced with a blinding joy. He will see Derek again. He will talk to him. He will kiss him, again and again and again. 

“He got another miracle,” Cora cries, joining in on the hug. “Just like the night of the fire.” 

Stiles stares up at the fluorescent light set in the ceiling. If he squints, it almost seems like there’s a face right in the middle, smiling down at him. “You know what, Cora?” he says softly. “I think you might be right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, bare. I had to deviate a little from your plot. I need a happy ending!
> 
> We're going rapid-fire updates from here on out. I'm thinking the last chapter should be posted this Sunday, but don't hold me to that.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, thanks for you kudos and comments!  
> #
> 
>  
> 
> NEXT UP: Derek has some important conversations with the people he loves.


	16. All I Ever Want Is There In Your Eyes, They Tell Me I'm All Right And I Realize I Always Knew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The One Where Everyone Talks a LOT.

_It’s not a white light._

 _It’s not pearly gates._

 _

It’s not dancing on clouds and harps and wings, or fire and brimstone and pointy tails. 

It’s darkness, but not the kind he’s afraid of. It’s love and peace carrying him away. It’s a fading of everything bad, fear and hatred and regret sloughing away into nothingness. 

And then… 

And then… 

It’s a feeling like a kiss on the cheek, and the sensation of falling, and the knowledge that he will not remember any of this. He is falling, falling, falling, and he knows he is returning, and soon enough he lands into unconsciousness. 

And he’s back. 

He won’t remember it, and there’s nothing to show what he almost was. 

But that love he felt, so strong and pure it could only have been otherworldly… 

The love stays.

_

# 

When Derek wakes up, all he sees is white. He blinks sluggishly, too exhausted to try and figure out where he is, and eventually shapes blur and coalesce into solids. A window. A tile ceiling. White sheets. 

A hospital. 

He remembers then. He’d tried to kill himself before _Romeo and Juliet_ opened. And, evidently, he failed. 

That’s bad. That’s really, really bad. Because now, if he doesn’t put on a good enough show, he’ll probably be locked up in a mental ward. His father could probably have him institutionalized somewhere. A perfect way to get rid of the problem that used to be his son. 

“Derek.” Someone strokes his hand cautiously. “You’re all right, son. You’re going to be okay.” 

Turning his head is painful, but he does as quickly as he can, because that voice almost sounds like Chris. Derek has never heard Chris speak so gently, but, sure enough, there he is. 

“Dad?” Derek croaks. “It’s okay, buddy. Do you need water? How do you feel? Do you— ” 

A nurse leans over and puts her hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Go slow,” she rebukes mildly. “Derek, my name is Catherine. You overdosed on two kinds of sedatives and you’re in the hospital. Can you tell me how old you are?” 

“Eighteen.” 

“And what’s your full name?” 

“Derek James Hale.” 

“And what’s five plus five?” 

Derek frowns. “Ten,” he says in his best _you idiot_ voice. 

“Okay,” the nurse says. “He’s going to be just fine.” 

She gets him some water, fusses over his machines for a few minutes, and leaves. Derek can hear his heartbeat being tracked on the EKG by his bed. A full ten beeps go by before Chris speaks again. 

“Derek, what happened last night broke my heart.” 

Derek swallows painfully and keeps staring at the ceiling. 

“We were in the audience when they came and got us. I thought you were dead when I saw you on the stretcher.” 

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispers. 

“Don’t say that. I’m not mad at you, okay? Nobody is mad at you. That’s the most important thing. We all love you, very much, and we’re going to help you get better.” 

Derek doesn’t know if he has ever heard his father say _I love you_ before, but he immediately feels an echoing twist of his old despair. “Get better,” he repeats. “You…you know about me. Ally told me that you heard.” He turns his face away. “Dad, I can’t fix it. I tried, but it won’t ever go away. I _can’t_ get better.” 

“Oh, Derek. I know. That’s not what I meant.” Chris grabs his hand again. “Listen to me. I was a different person yesterday. I was ignorant, and cruel, and misguided. When I heard that you were gay, I reacted very badly, because I didn’t understand. But if you really thought it was better to be dead…that we would prefer a dead son to a gay son…that’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” 

Derek is afraid to turn and look at him, as if this moment will disappear if he does. 

“Derek,” Chris starts, before trailing off in a sigh. “You know I’m not good with words.” 

Derek scrapes out a laugh. “Yeah, Dad. I understand. It wasn’t exactly a recessive gene.” 

“Well, you’ve always been a little better than me, anyway. I remember how you spoke up at Thanksgiving.” 

Derek winces. 

“I should have seen it then. I want to make up for that. Derek, I don’t want to try and change you. I figure, if you _could_ change, you wouldn’t have felt like suicide was your only way out. So it can’t be changed. It’s a part of you. And you’re my son, my only son, and I couldn’t ask you to change who you are. I don’t want to.” Chris’s entire speech is a bit halting, but it stills fills Derek with more hope than he could have thought possible. 

“You don’t?” 

“Not if it means losing you.” Chris pulls out a handkerchief and blows his nose. “I’ve been reading up on things all night,” he says. “There’s a lot of information out there that I just sort of wrote off when it didn’t fit what I wanted to believe, but now I’m trying to learn. I promise you, I am. God changed my heart last night. _You_ changed my heart.” 

“Thank you,” Derek whispers. He feels like he might burst into tears if Chris keeps talking. 

“You should know, Derek. I resigned from the post this morning. I’m not the mayor anymore.” 

“Oh, Dad, no!” Derek squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry.” 

“ _I’m_ sorry, Derek. I resigned because I need to spend more time with my family. That’s the cliché, isn’t it, but it’s true. I didn’t know you were in that much pain.” Chris’s voice cracks. “I know I’ve never been a very good father to you.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“It is. We’ve never really talked about your mother. I loved her, Derek. The time we spent together was incredible. I thought I would marry her. And then we had this terrible fight about Peter—” 

“Uncle Peter?” 

“Yes. He knew how active I was in the church, and he came to me explaining that he wanted to get rid of his problem with same-sex attraction.” 

Derek forgets everything else. “Uncle Peter was _gay_?” 

“Your mother was the only person who knew, and she tried to encourage him to accept himself. I thought there was a better way to help him, so I sent him to conversion therapy group. It was very hard on him, and your mother was furious with me. She told me that she never wanted to see me again.” 

“I didn’t know any of that.” 

“Peter was very ashamed. After he completed his therapy he insisted that no one ever know about what had happened. He met a woman and they began dating, but I found that that he was still taking men home. He wasn’t cured the way he said he was. I was so angry and bitter over losing Talia that I very spitefully told Peter’s girlfriend what was going on, and he’s never forgiven me.” 

Derek shakes his head dazedly. “Uncle Peter. I had no idea.” 

“When your mother told me she was pregnant, I begged her to marry me. I thought you were our second chance. But she had already met Jesse and knew right away he was the one. She said you already _had_ a family.” Chris sighs. “So I met Victoria, and fell in love with her, and tried to pretend everything was fine. But whenever I saw you, I just felt like an outsider. You had this wonderful, warm, loving family. You were such a happy baby, Derek, but you cried when I would hold you. You wanted Jesse, or your mom. I couldn’t make you laugh like they could.” 

“You stopped visiting,” Derek says, feeling the old ache of regret for his missing father. 

“Your family just kept getting bigger, and my place in it felt smaller and smaller. I had Allison then, and when I was with her I finally felt like a father. I was selfish, Derek. I let my feeling be hurt because you didn’t seem to like me very much when you were a baby. Trust me, I’ve always known how badly I failed you then. That’s why I’ve continued to fail you ever since the fire. You’d lost that big, loving family. You were stuck with second-best.” Chris’s voice is filled with self-disgust. “I pushed you away before you could push me away. I’m so sorry, Derek. I’m so eternally sorry.” 

There are a thousand things Derek wants to say, but he settles for the simplest. “I forgive you, Dad.” He struggles to sit up and they hug, clinging to each other for a long time. 

Eventually Chris settles Derek down onto his pillows. “So,” Derek says, trying to lighten the mood. “You’ve been reading up on the gay propaganda, huh?” It’s a little difficult to make those two words mocking, after he’s heard them been used so hatefully by Kate and Gerard before. But he figures the best way to handle homophobia, for him, is just to laugh at it. He can’t punch out everyone who hates him, and he can’t give long eloquent speeches in response to each insult. He’ll find his own method of getting by. 

“I’ve learned quite a bit. Did you know same-sex relationships were considered the norm in Ancient Rome? It was a sign of strength to take a man. It made you seem more masculine!” Chris actually looks excited about this new knowledge. “And all different animal species do it, and they don’t get kicked out of the herd, so to speak. We’re the only species that tries to deny it, and we’re supposed to be the most intelligent.” 

“We should know better,” Derek agrees. 

Chris squeezes his hand. “Well,” he says, “Now some of us do.” 

# 

Derek takes a nap, and when he wakes up Cora has taken Chris’s place. “Hey there,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. She looks completely miserable and Derek decides it’s time to start convincing everyone that he’s completely normal, so he can avoid a trip to the psych ward. “Come here often?” 

It doesn’t work. Her mouth is still curved downwards. Derek notices she’s not wearing her makeup. “Jeez, Cora,” he teases gently. “Who died?” 

“Don’t joke.” 

“Don’t look like you’re at my funeral.” 

“ _Really_ don’t joke about that.” 

“I’m sorry.” Derek shifts over a little and pats the empty space on the bed. “Think we can still both fit on one hospital bed?” 

Cora sucks her lip and crawls onto the bed with him. 

“I’m going to be okay, Cora. Clean bill of health.” 

“Physically,” Cora whispers. 

Derek winces. “Yeah.” He stretches his arm around her. “But I’m getting better the other way, too.” 

Cora starts crying silently. “Hey.” Derek reaches for tissues by the side of the bed. “Don’t be sad.” 

“You must hate me,” Cora says, burying her face in the tissues. 

“What? Cora-belle, no. Of course I don’t hate you. What’s wrong?” Derek remembers the way Cora had avoided his eyes last night, but thinking about it threatens to blow away his calm smokescreen. “I don’t want to talk about yesterday, okay? We don’t have to be mad at each other. We’re family.” 

“I’m not mad at you,” Cora practically mouths. 

“Well, I’m not mad at you either.” Derek closes his eyes as Cora nestles into him. This is familiar. This reminds him so much of those days in the hospital when Cora needed his protection; when he learned how to be _Derek Hale_. “You’re the best sister I could ask for.” 

“Derek, I’m so sorry I didn’t let you come out to me.” The words burst out of Cora and Derek tries not to flinch. “I don’t care that you’re gay. I just want you to be happy.” 

“Okay, Cora. I forgive you.” Derek struggles to keep his voice even. “That’s not important right now.” 

“I just, I want you to know, you don’t have to hide it. Not from me, especially. I love you. I love you gay or straight. You’re my big brother.” 

“Hiding’s not really an option anymore, anyway.” Derek hands her another tissue. “Everyone knows, right? I’d just look pathetic if I tried to lie about it. So you’re going to have to buck up, Cora-belle. When I go back things are going to be pretty different. The Legend of Derek Hale is coming to an end.” 

“You’re still a legend.” 

“Yeah. Just kind of a lousy one now.” He doesn’t want to think about it, so he just tosses her some false bravado. “But I’ve still got a few months before graduation.” 

“Fuck ‘em if they act like this changes you.” Cora blows her nose so violently Derek snorts out a laugh. “I’ve always been so jealous of you. You were the perfect person and I was just the damaged little lump that had to come with you like a package deal.” 

“Don’t be jealous of me, Cora. I’m not so great.” That makes Cora lift her head and squint suspiciously at him, and Derek backtracks. “Kidding! I’m great. I’m _perfect_. I wouldn’t trade me in for the world.” 

Cora chews a knuckle, looking incredibly young. “Do you still want to kill yourself?” 

“No.” Derek hasn’t really let himself think of the kids at school and his tarnished reputation and Stiles, lest that yawning hopelessness return. He’s focusing on the good. Chris loves him. Cora loves him. That’s enough to live for. “I’m not a hundred percent, but I’m better. Last night…I was in the deep end. Now I’m in the kiddy pool. Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And I’m really glad to know that you still love me.” Derek blushes a little at the word _love_ ; he’s half Argent, after all, and Argents don’t talk about their feelings. “I promise I won’t doubt that again.” 

“I promise I won’t do anything to make you doubt that again.” 

“Now please stop crying. I’m too masculine; I can’t handle the emotion.” 

“Jerk.” Cora kisses his cheek, looking a little more like herself. “Just an FYI? They’re going to do a psych evaluation on you. I heard them talking to Chris about it.” 

“So I should probably get those voices in my head to shut up.” 

“You’re not funny.” 

“Yeah, well.” Derek takes a deep breath. For a second he remembers two scared little kids, all alone in the world, huddling together in a hospital room and promising to never let go. They’ll always carry those two kids with them, and maybe that’s good. The strongest bonds are forged in fire. “We all have our crosses to bear.” 

# 

Derek attempts to bullshit his way through his psych eval, but the doctor’s kind eyes somehow bore past his façade immediately and he ends up crying his way through the rest of the tissues. By the time they finish he expects to be bundled immediately into a straightjacket and whisked off to be electroshocked. 

“I failed that, huh?” he says, mopping at his eyes again. 

“No, you didn’t. And a free piece of advice, Derek? You really have to stop thinking that everything is a test you’re going to fail.” The doctor pats him on the leg. “You’re going to stay in the hospital for three days— don’t give me that face!—and we’re going to talk each day. Once you’ve been released I need you talking to somebody once a week, whether it’s me here, a guidance counselor at your school, or another professional. I’m not going to put you on antidepressants right now because I don’t think they would be appropriate.” 

“So… I’m not crazy?” 

“You’re not crazy. You’re a very scared, stressed out boy who has been through more than most people can imagine. But you’re also incredibly strong. What happened yesterday doesn’t change that.” 

“So what do I do now?” 

“Well, I can’t tell you that. You need to figure it out for yourself. But some more free advice? Be honest with yourself and the people around you. Follow your passions. Remember that _you_ define yourself, not anyone else, and you write your own story. So make it a story you want to read. And don’t be afraid, because you’re going to be just fine.” 

And, surprising himself, Derek believes her. 

# 

The next time Derek wakes up, he knows who’s waiting for him before he even opens his eyes. 

“You know, you snore louder than I do,” Stiles says. 

“That’s a damn lie.” Derek pushes himself up into a sitting position and tries to finger-comb his hair. “God, sorry. I look bad, don’t I?” 

Stiles looks at his purple-bruised eyes, disheveled hospital gown, and two-day stubble. “You look bad,” he agrees. “But…you look okay. You look better, anyway.” 

Derek winces. “You saw me backstage.” It’s not a question. 

“Cora was the one who found you.” Derek had never asked, and his heart clenches at the news. Poor Cora. No wonder she was such a wreck. “But yeah, I saw you.” 

“I’m sorry.” Derek stares down at his lap. 

“Don’t be sorry. I just wanted to say thanks. For staying alive.” Stiles gives Derek a flicker of a smile. “You know, I’ve logged a lot of fantasy hours about you. Shame if all those went to waste.” 

Derek catches his breath. This feels normal. It feels the way it used to be. He hasn’t forgotten that Stiles kissed him back, but he hasn’t dared think about what that might mean. 

“By the way I brought you something.” Stiles digs in his bag and pulls out Tony the Furby. “I spent like two hours teaching him English today with the stupid app. You really slacked off.” He switches Tony on and sets him on Derek’s lap. 

Tony’s creepy eyes flutter open. “Me Tony!” he says, and then, “Me love Derek!” 

Damn it if that doesn’t make his eyes fill with tears. 

“You scared the fuck out of me, you know,” Stiles says quietly. 

Derek flips Tony over. The toy burps and he rolls his eyes before shutting it off. “I’m really sorry you had to see me like that.” 

“I was at the hospital with your family. They took so fucking long to tell us what was going on.” Derek’s heart monitor speeds up slightly at Stiles’s tortured expression. “God, Derek, if I lost you, I don’t know what I would do.” 

Derek takes a deep breath and reminds himself to be honest like the psychiatrist said. “I told myself you’d be okay. Better off without me always being a thorn in your side.” 

“Well, you were wrong. I already lost my mom, you know. You can’t just yank away another person I love.” 

Derek hovers over hope. “You mean that?” he asks cautiously. “You still love me?” 

“Are you serious? Derek Hale, if there’s one thing I learned through this, it’s that I’m going to love you long after the day you die.” Stiles glances over his shoulder. “It’s okay for me to say that here, right? You’re not trying to hide it, or anything?” 

“No. Not anymore. Everyone knows. Even my dad, and he’s trying to be okay with it.” 

“Oh yeah,” Stiles says, grinning. “He was asking me all these questions last night and at the end he shook my hand really formally and was like, ‘welcome to the family.’ He kind of danced around the issue, but I’m like ninety percent sure that he thought we had sex by just touching penises. Good for him, anyway.” 

“He just learned that the Ancient Romans used to be homosexuals and it blew him away.” 

“Wait, really?” Stiles laughs. “So we’re not superheroes after all. We’re gladiators.” 

Derek smiles and they sit together for another twenty-five beeps of the monitor. 

“So,” Stiles says finally. “You said you loved me.” 

Derek nods, twisting his fingers in his bed sheets. 

“Did you…was that real? Or was it just because of what was going on? Like, a proper goodbye?” Stiles looks heartbroken before he’s finished the question, as though he’s already filled in the answer in his head. Derek opens his mouth, then pauses. He wants to do this right. 

“Stiles, look at the monitor, okay?” Derek says 

Confused, Stiles turns to look at Derek’s heart monitor. 

“It was real.” 

The heartbeats stay steady. 

“I love you.” 

There’s not a single skip or uptick in tempo. 

“I’ve been in love with you for years. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. And I _don’t_ want to. If you’ll have me, I want to be yours again. But now I don’t it want to just be in our room. I want everyone to know, because I’m so. Fucking. Proud. to call you mine.” 

Stiles stares at the heart monitor, chin wobbling. “You mean that?” 

“Are you doubting medical science? _Yes_.” Derek grabs Stiles’s hand when he hesitantly proffers it. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy all the time. There’s a lot of stuff I have to get over. But if you’re willing to stick with me, I want to do it with you.” 

A smile creeps over Stiles’s face. “Well, you know I _always_ want to ‘do it’ with you too.” 

Derek rolls his eyes, forcing his own smile down. “Ugh. Never mind. Deal’s off.” 

Stiles laughs and the moment stretches, a perfect little bubble. 

“And I’m going to make it all up to you,” Derek promises. “Everything I fucked up. I’ll make it right.” 

“We don’t have to talk about that.” 

“Just let me say that I’m sorry.” Derek swallows hard. “For Lydia, especially. And for what I said to you. For being a coward.” 

“It’s already forgiven.” 

“I tried to keep you from doing the best thing for you, because I was scared. And then you came out, and…God, Stiles, it was so _easy_ for you. I couldn’t believe how brave you were. I’m thinking about going back to school and facing everyone, and it makes me want to piss my pants. How did you do it? Seriously, I want to know.” 

Stiles shrugs. “It was kind of scary,” he admits. “Especially since I didn’t have you. But when my dad accepted me, it got easier. I guess it didn’t matter so much what other people thought, because _I_ was at peace. I accepted myself first.” 

Derek smiles. “That’s nice.” 

“It’s more than nice, it’s vital.” Stiles rubs the pad of his thumb against the back of Derek’s hand. “One day I just woke up and realized I couldn’t live a lie anymore. Not for _them_. Not for some twisted version of God they said would hate me for who I am.” 

Frowning, Derek resists the urge to make the sign of the cross. “You’re saying you don’t believe in God?” 

“I believe in a God who accepts all of us. I believe in a God who made me the way I am, and wouldn’t ask me to deny part of the soul He created. I believe in a God who tells me to follow my heart, not someone else’s words. My God loves me. That’s all. He just loves me, and that’s more than enough.” 

Derek closes his eyes as he listens to Stiles, feeling the lump in his throat grow bigger. “Your God,” he whispers. “You think I can believe in Him too?” 

Stiles leans it and Derek kisses him. It’s gentle and sweet, as if it’s the very first time. He moves so Stiles can crawl into the bed with him and curl up against his chest, Tony nestled between them. 

“Hey, Stiles?” he whispers. 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you be my boyfriend?” 

“Only if you’ll be my roommate again. Isaac was great, but I have pretty high standards.” 

“Deal.” 

They seal it with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally took some liberties with Furby abilities here. Seriously, though, fuck Furbys. Don't let this story inspire you to buy a Furby. I'll automatically be sent to Hell for what I've inadvertently put you through.  
> I'm pretty sure there will be two more chapters going up tomorrow night and Sunday morning covering Derek's return to school and then an epilogue. Not a word of either has been written, so what the heck! If there are any scenarios you'd like to see before we finish up or plot danglers you worry I'll forget about (VERY likely), drop a comment!


	17. One I Love You, One Forever, One Tomorrow, One Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Derek-Lydia resolution, as requested, a bit of plot ripped from the headlines, and some very long-overdue smut.

On Tuesday Derek is given his clean bill of health and allowed to leave the hospital. It’s decided that he will take his finals at home, watched over by a school representative, and won’t return to St. Cecilia’s until after the holiday break. They also arrange for him to meet with the school counselor once a week. It won’t be religiously focused. In fact, she tells Chris on the phone, she’s an atheist. Not that it matters, really, but Derek is a little bit relieved anyway. 

“I guess the show’s never going to happen,” Derek says to Stiles when he comes over to visit. They’re on the couch in the living room; Derek doesn’t want to push his luck with his father by going to the bedroom with Stiles. 

“Sister Marin dramatically burned her copy of the script yesterday,” Stiles tells him, grinning at the memory. “She said nobody is even allowed to say _Romeo and Juliet_ without a detention.” 

Derek snorts and shifts under the afghan he’s wrapped around them both. Victoria has the Christmas tree on and they’ve turned down the overhead lights, so the room is filled with the soft colorful glow of the tree lights. “So, tell me how bad it is.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“What’s everyone saying about me?” 

“Nothing when I’m in earshot. A couple girls asked me if we’re officially dating, though. They’re all jealous of me now.” 

Derek smiles. He kind of wants to ask about Lydia and Jackson and Matt and all the people he is most afraid to face, but he feels warm and safe and happy and far enough away from what’s coming after the break that he decides to just push it away for now. “Cora was texting me that there were pride ribbons pinned up by the stage door.” 

“Yeah, I saw them. Not sure who put them up.” Stiles snuggles against Derek. “But let’s talk about the important stuff, sourman. You have exactly nine days before Christmas. What are you getting me?” 

Derek blanches. “Now that we’re a couple, do I have to get you more than usual?” 

“Yes. And you have to go bigger each year or I’ll dump you, so be strategic. But this is also our first official Christmas, so it has to be pretty good. There are a lot of rules you really need to start learning.” 

The first time Derek had ever needed to buy Stiles a gift, he went with socks. They hadn't even fit Stiles. Derek had somehow managed to find the only pair of socks on earth that weren’t one-size-fits-all. “I’m bad at this stuff.” 

“I know, but whenever you’re bad at something you overcompensate, so I’m really looking forward to every holiday from here on out.” 

Derek laughs. It’s true. He knows full well he’ll panic and just get Stiles a puppy or something. “If you were a girl I could just buy you a locket with my face in it or whatever.” 

“If I were a girl a lot of your problems would be solved, Hale.” 

“Yeah,” Derek says. “But then I wouldn’t be in love with you.” 

Stiles’s eyes soften. “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing that.” When Derek quirks an eyebrow Stiles huffs. “Before you even ask, saying you love me a thousand times or something equally gooey and metaphysical can’t be a present.” 

“Do you like roses?” 

“No.” 

“Rose _petals_?” 

“Ew. No.” 

“What if I trained some turtledoves to fly through the dorm room chirping our names?” 

“You know, that locket with your face is sounding better and better.” Stiles grins up at him, close enough that Derek can’t resist leaning down and kissing him. 

There’s a loud, awkward commotion at the doorway and Derek breaks away from the kiss to see Chris stumbling over his feet, trying desperately not to look. “Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to know if Stiles was staying for dinner.” 

“Oh,” Stiles says a little breathlessly. “No, my dad said he would drive me back to school around six.” 

“Okay. Er, I’d prefer if you didn’t…you know, in the house. I mean, maybe…you can kiss, it’s fine. Never mind. Just don’t do…you shouldn’t…I’ll just knock from now on.” Chris winces. ‘I’ll go tell Victoria you’re not staying. Great.” 

“We broke him,” Stiles stage-whispers once Chris leaves. 

“Still,” Derek says, looking after his father fondly. “He’s trying. 

That’s enough. 

# 

He quickly becomes bored when Stiles and Cora are school. The police come to question him, wanting to know where he got the drugs, and he pretends he can’t remember any part of the night so he won’t get Erica into trouble. It might not matter, since Stiles texts him that Erica cleared out her supply and is refusing to deal anymore. There’s someone else who deserves an apology from him, though she texts him cheerfully throughout the break and doesn't seem too angry that he ruined her business. She even admits that she was getting a little out of control, and in a way he did her a favor. It's not just Erica-- all of his friends have evidently realized that he hadn't shunned Stiles because he was some sort of homophobe, and they're racing to rekindle their friendships with him. It means more than he could have imagined to have them all back in his life. When he's not texting with his friends he catches up on his studies— the stress of the semester has driven him massively behind— and is almost relieved when the day of his at-home finals finally arrives. 

He assumed it would be an aide who monitors him, but instead Sister Marin marches through the door with a stack of papers, dressed for once in street clothes instead of her habit. 

“Sister!” Derek flushes bright red. He knows that Sister Marin saw him backstage, and the thought fills him with a hot cocktail of shame and embarrassment and grief. 

“Derek.” Sister Marin drops her stack of papers. “You have a lot of work to do here, so let’s get this out of the way quickly. I’m extraordinarily glad you’re still here. I’m very angry you didn’t think you could come and talk to me when you needed help. You owe the theater department several hundred dollars in reimbursed ticket sales, but I figure the school owes you that debt, so don’t worry about it. Next semester you’ll be trying out for the spring show, unless the students campaigning for _The Laramie Project_ get their way, as I know that might be uncomfortable for you. And, finally, you’re one of the best students I’ve ever had, and you show your value in a thousand different ways. Now, we’ll do the final for my class first, so grab your pencil and take a seat.” 

Derek nods, then surprises them both by wrapping her in a hug. “Thank you.” 

She holds him gently, patting him on the back. “You know, I took the habit because I wanted to help people,” she says. “I always wanted to stand for God, and you know what I say about God.” 

“God is love.” 

“God is love. Now I feel more and more like I’m being told to stand for the _church_ , and the two have become separate. But I won’t do it. I know what _I_ stand for.” 

“Thank you,” Derek says again. Other words tie around his tongue; he wants her to know that he thinks his mother, if she had lived, would have liked Sister Marin, and if the Sister hadn’t taken the habit she would have been a wonderful mother herself. He wants to tell her that he hopes he meets more people like her in the world, because the church and the country and the world needs more Sister Marins out there. 

And, he kind of wants to say, who knows. Maybe he’ll audition for _The Laramie Project._ He hadn’t been half-bad at Romeo, after all. 

Instead he sits and picks up his pencil. He’s got a valedictorian sash to defend. 

# 

Christmas is a very different affair this year. Kate and the elder Argents aren’t invited for dinner and there’s a long discussion over whether or not Christmas Mass is worth it. In the end, Derek insists that they go. He sits tall in his seat, trying not to cower as stares bore into him and whispers buzz all through the sermon. Chris places his hand on his shoulder and keeps it there until they get back to the car. “We may find a new church,” is all he says after they leave. 

Some of Derek’s gifts are obviously last-minute buys: the first two seasons of _The L-Word_ , which makes Derek bite his tongue rather than point out that he’s not a lesbian, several memoirs on growing up gay in the church, and, from Victoria, a truly horrific rainbow blanket that makes him wonder if she hates him deep-down or something. Kate sends presents and they all eye the box for Derek distrustfully. Conversion camp brochures? A Fred Phelps-esque sign? A box of matches? In the end, Derek just carries it to the curb without opening it. There’s no point in making life harder than it has to be. 

Stiles comes over the day after Christmas and they exchange gifts. Derek didn’t go with the puppy after all. Instead he got the Sherriff to send him a picture of Stiles’s mother, and he used a program online to age her to forty-three, the age she would have been now, before super-imposing her into a photo of Stiles and his father. It seemed like the kind of gift Stiles might have gotten for him. Then he orders a Tamagotchi off of eBay, the only toy more annoying than a Furby. Finally, so nobody can say he didn’t go all out, he spends some of his days alone on the couch painstakingly drawing a comic book for Stiles, featuring the two of them as superheroes. He spends almost an entire day debating which of them should be the hero and which the sidekick before he realizes how ridiculous that is. They’re _both_ the hero, after all. 

The artwork isn’t great, but Stiles loves it. He’s done something similar for Derek by rewriting the _Romeo and Juliet_ script to feature two boys, but his version ends with Romeo and Julio looking at each other, saying, “Fuck it,” and riding out of Verona together. 

“You’re a really good writer,” Derek says when he reaches the last page. 

Stiles actually blushes. “Really? Thank you.” He fiddles with wrapping paper instead of saying anything else, and Derek cocks an eyebrow at him. 

“You should keep writing,” he tries, just to see how Stiles reacts. 

“You really think so?” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

Stiles glances at him. “I kind of thought…I know I was going to major in computer science, but maybe I could pick up another major in English? I like it, you know. It’s kind of dumb. But I think I could be really happy doing it.” 

“You’re good with words,” Derek says simply. “You should be a writer.” 

Stiles chews his lips, ready to talk himself out of it. “I don’t know. It’s not easy to do. And Notre Dame isn’t exactly known for its strong creative writing program.” 

“So we’ll go somewhere else. I could use a break from the Catholic school scene anyway.” 

“Wait, really?” 

“Sure. There’s still time to send out more applications. We’re both top ten percent of the class, and come on.” Derek grins at him. “We’re going to have the most amazing admissions essay. Way better than the one I used for Notre Dame.” 

Stiles’s blush takes up his entire face. “Oh, my God, this is so couple-y. We’re _supporting each other’s dreams._ That’s so cool.” 

“I just want my acknowledgement in your first novel.” 

“To Derek,” Stiles says. “Love of my life, pain in my ass.” 

“If it’s a pain in your ass you’re looking for…” 

Stiles chucks a bow at him and they end up rolling around in front of the Christmas tree before making out by the fireplace. 

It’s the best Christmas ever. 

# 

On the day Derek has to return to St. Cecelia’s, he gets up early and does fifty push-ups to get his blood pumping. He really doesn’t want to go back and leave behind the safety blanket he’s found here in Chris’s house, of all places. It’s going to be hard, he knows that. But Stiles is there. And Scott, who has been texting Derek all through break. He’s always kept Scot at a distance, but he likes the guy. They could be friends. 

He stares at himself in the mirror and leans in, thinking about what Stiles had said in the hospital. _It didn’t matter so much what people thought, because I was at peace. I accepted myself first._

“I accept you,” he says to the boy in the mirror. 

The boy stares back at him, unimpressed. Well. That is his default impression. 

Derek tries out a smile on himself and grabs his bag. “I accept you,” he repeats to the mirror before he shuts off the light and walks downstairs to find his family engaged in a hushed whisper-fight. 

“Just throw it out. We’ll make sure nobody tells him,” Cora is hissing as Derek enters the kitchen. Everyone falls silent and stands around guiltily, obviously trying to hide something on the counter behind them. 

“Oh, boy.” Derek concentrates on pouring himself a mug of coffee. “What it is?” 

Chris sighs. “The school released a statement,” he says resignedly. “Apparently the press has been hounding them after what happened.” 

Derek has become resigned to the fact that nobody will ever refer to his suicide attempt by name. It’s probably better that way. “Let me see.” 

They pass over the newspaper silently. Derek scans the article. “ _St. Cecelia’s is a learning institution that welcomes people of all faiths but finds its roots in Christian doctrine…as a Catholic private school we believe in a biblically focused way of life…while we care for all our students we must also hold true to the most core tenets of Christianity…as such our official position is that God intended physical intimacy to only be found between one man and one woman, and all other relationships must be condemned…no student will be turned away from St. Cecelia’s or punished for their sexual conduct…”_

It doesn’t say who authored the statement, whether it was a trustee or a board member or the principal. It’s just another person hiding their hatred behind an institution. 

Derek folds the paper up and hands it back. “Well, I guess we can’t really ask for anything better.” 

“No,” Allison says fiercely. “We can.” 

“It’s a Catholic school.” 

“Don’t defend it, Derek!” Allison pounds her fist into the kitchen island, looking more passionate than Derek has ever seen her. “This is…it’s…it’s fucked up!” 

“Ally!” Victoria exclaims. 

“No, it is! I’m sorry, Mom and Dad, but it’s true!” Ally balls up the newspaper and throws it into the trash. “It’s so cowardly to just put an article in the paper like that! How are we supposed to respond to this kind of crap? What do we _do_?” 

Derek holds out his hand for her to grab. “We go back,” he says simply. “I keep showing up in school and we don’t let them win. That’s all we do. Because someday, they’ll stop playing this game. And that’s when _we_ win.” 

He’s been reading those memoirs Chris got him for Christmas. They’re pretty good. He’s no Harvey Milk yet, or anything, but it’s all about baby steps. 

Allison grabs his hand. “Derek, are you sure you can handle this?” she asks softly. 

“I can.” Derek smiles to reassure her. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared, but that fear is just a lot of fluff stacked on top of an iron resolve. 

The night he almost died, he’s decided, he _evolved_. No more fear. No more hiding. No more self-doubt. That was all electrocuted out of him when he was defibrillated. 

“Derek Hale, everyone.” Cora smacks her hand down on top of her siblings’, grinning broadly. “He’s here. He’s queer. You can’t make him disappear.” 

“Wait a minute,” Chris says. He’s holding the back pages of the newspaper, where people can write in their own opinions on the news. “Listen to this, kids. ‘We members of the faculty of St. Cecelia’s condemn the statement released in today’s papers by the school administration. We admonish the authors of the statement for forgetting one of the most basic tenets of our philosophy: that God is love. St. Cecelia’s was created to be a safe environment for all people, and as long as we are on its staff, that’s what it will remain. Signed, members of the St. Cecilia’s teaching staff.’” 

Derek doesn’t have to think for a second to figure out who authored _that_ statement. “See?” He takes a deep, steadying breath. “We’re all gonna be just fine.” 

# 

They time their arrival at St. Cecilia’s just right so Derek can make his way to the room without being seen. Stiles moved everything back in before break. Derek sighs in relief as he takes it all in. There’s the superhero posters and the pictures cluttering up Stiles’s desk. The room is _home_ again. Although Derek notices that Stiles hasn’t bothered to make up his own bed. They both know it’ll never be slept in. 

He grabs putty out of his desk and climbs on top of his bed. He’s never hung up the poster Stiles gave him for his birthday, so he does that first. The faces of his family grin out at him and he carefully touches each one in turn. Then he takes out a picture of him and Stiles, taken the day they exchanged Christmas presents. Stiles’s head is on Derek’s shoulder. They’re very obviously a couple, and very obviously happy. He tacks that one up too and steps back to admire his handiwork. 

Perfect. 

“Shave and a Haircut” sounds and Stiles steps in. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hey.” Derek hops off the bed and pulls him in for a kiss. “Missed you.” 

“You too. You see the paper?” 

“Yeah. Fuck them.” 

“Yeah, well, my dad has been on the phone with the board all morning. Apparently they’re trying to keep us from rooming together. Since it would be _inappropriate._ ” Stiles smirks, but he’s obviously pissed, practically buzzing with anger. “My dad asked who we would room with then, seeing as Isaac has the only single room right now. Want to guess what their brilliant solution was?” 

“What?” 

“Matt Daehler and his roommate have been asking for a switch. So they wanted to put me with him and you with Deucalion.” 

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Derek’s heart pounds. They can’t do it. Matt will destroy Stiles. “Please tell me your dad stopped them. Didn’t he tell them what Matt said the night of the play?” 

“He’s still talking to them. They don’t give a shit, they were saying that we were exaggerating. All boys rag on each other, you know, especially about something like _this_." Stiles's voice drips with sarcasm. "They already talked to Matt and Duke about it, to make sure they’re cool rooming with the faggots, and they said they were fine, totally fine with us…because they _want_ to have us close by. Easier to fuck with us.” 

“Okay, we have to stop this. Okay.” Derek rubs at his eyes. “Why can’t they just leave us alone? Don’t they think this is just inviting more controversy?” 

“Dad already tried that line of reasoning. I mean, he’s full out, interrogation-of-a-mafia-hitman Sherriff right now. But something tells me they won’t just roll over on it. They might make us switch, Der.” Stiles shakes his head, defeated. "I swear they're trying to force us out. I can't do this for the rest of the year." 

Derek plops down on his bed. For a minute he feels an echoing call of his despair. It’s always going to be hard for them. He can say that someday they will win as much as he wants, but they don’t have _someday_ yet. Then, suddenly, he snaps out of it. “The drugs,” he says. 

“What? Are you having a stroke?” 

“The police wanted to know where I got the drugs. Can you imagine what would happen if I told them I stole them from the nurse’s office? You and I both know she never locks up properly. Erica used to steal Oxy from there last year all the time. I bet the board _really_ wouldn’t want that getting out.” 

Stiles stares at him. “Dude, that’s devious.” 

“I’d never really do it, of course. But _they_ don’t have to know that.” 

Stiles’s grin spreads slowly. “If my dad just really casually threatened…” 

“And, just in case they aren’t convinced, my dad hinted that he’s been a pretty big donor for years…” 

“Nailed it!” Stiles pulls out his phone. “Derek, that’s brilliant. Playing dirty never hurt anyone, right?” 

“Well, they started it.” Derek hesitates. He feels charged with his victory, and he suddenly decides there’s a conversation that can’t wait any longer. “Hey, you talk to your dad. I want to go take care of something really quick, okay?” 

“I’ll text you what he says. Don’t take too long.” 

“I won’t.” Derek hovers at the door. “I love you,” he says. 

Stiles blows him a kiss. “Love you too.” 

Derek walks down the hall, which are thankfully still clear. Most students arrived back this morning, but there’s only one he needs to see. 

He takes a deep breath when he reaches Room 502, then knocks. 

Cora opens the door. “Hey, you,” she says. “What’s up?” 

Derek looks past her to where Lydia is sitting at her desk. “I actually kind of wanted to talk to Lydia alone. If that’s okay with her.” 

Cora actually looks at Lydia to get her permission to leave. When Lydia nods almost imperceptibly, Cora mouths _good luck_ at Derek and slips out. 

“Hey.” Derek crosses his arms awkwardly. “Thanks for talking to me.” 

“I thought about texting you over break. But I didn’t know what to say.” Lydia keeps staring down at her textbook. 

“I figured it would be better if we talked in person.” 

Lydia nods and pushes back her chair. “Did you try to kill yourself because of me?” she asks bluntly. 

“No.” 

“I told you I would rather kill myself than have your baby and an hour later you were dying.” 

Derek winces. “I was going through a lot that night. Trust me, Lydia, I wouldn’t kill myself just because you hurt my feelings.” 

“But if I hadn’t done that shit…” 

“You didn’t do any shit. I treated you poorly. You had a right to be angry.” 

Lydia curls over her desk like a willow stem and Derek realizes that she’s crying. The room is lit only by her lamp and the darkness is suffocating. “I kind of wanted to be pregnant,” she confesses shakily. “I mean, I didn’t, but a part of me thought… _now he doesn’t get to just leave me._ That’s why I told you before I was sure. I don’t know if I wanted you to be scared or I just wanted you, period.” 

“That’s not a crime.” 

“But it was shitty.” 

“It wasn’t fair for you to go through all of it alone. I chose to have sex with you. I chose to break up with you and then ignore you. That was me. Don’t beat yourself up over any of it, okay? It’s over. It’s done.” 

“I wouldn’t have cared that you were gay. I mean, I would have been sad, since I liked you so much, but I would have been happy for you and Stiles.” 

“I know that now.” Derek cranes his head so he can see her. “We’re both young. We make mistakes. But we’re both good people, so we survive it and we get better and put it behind us.” 

“Can we ever be friends again?” she asks in a small voice. 

“We can always be friends,” Derek promises. “But before that, let me just say how sorry I am. I used you. I hurt you. And, Lydia, if I were straight, there wouldn’t even be a fucking competition. You’re beautiful and funny and sweet and you’re going to find a guy who loves all of those things.” 

She rises from her chair and hugs him, sniffling into his shirt. “I’m sorry, too,” she says. “For what I said. What I did. The whole mess.” 

Derek squeezes her and lets go. “Okay. We’re friends again.” 

She lets out a phlegmy laugh. “Good. I missed you. And my crush on you has been totally exorcized.” 

“Thank God.” Derek lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “I gotta get back to the room. Stiles is trying to fix this whole weird thing and I don’t want to keep him waiting.” 

“Okay.” 

Derek stands and heads for the door. At the last moment he turns back around. “Hey, Lyd? That guy I was talking about, who’s going to love you and treat you right? Maybe don’t have him be Isaac.” 

“You mean because Cora is totally in love with him?” 

Derek’s jaw drops. “You noticed?” 

“I live with her, Derek. She’s so obvious.” Lydia frowns. “You know, I could totally make this my project. He’s already said he’s going local for college. They’d be so cute together, don’t you think? I’d have to be really sneaky about it, since Cora would freak out if she knew I was setting her up, but I could do it.” 

“Yeah, you could.” Derek studies her. “You’re fantastic, Lydia,” he tells her. 

“So are you, Derek Hale.” 

“And, you know, if you _are_ looking, Jackson really cares about you.” 

Lydia wrinkles her nose. “I know. But I don’t feel that way about him. And I don’t owe him my affection.” She grins at him. “He’s to me what I guess I was to you. It’s never going to happen, but he doesn’t take a ‘no’ very well.” 

“You were tenacious, I’ll give you that.” 

“Yeah, well, so is Jackson. But he has to get over it. I think I’m just going to be single for a while. Show people the _real_ Lydia Martin.” 

“I think they’ll like her. And if they don’t, fuck ‘em.” 

Lydia waves at him. Derek feels ten pounds lighter as he shuts the door behind him, even though the halls are starting to fill up with people visiting their friends. There are a few shocked whispers at the sight of him and Derek’s smile dims slightly, but he squares his shoulder and just starts walking. 

He’s halfway back to the room when he nearly runs into Jackson Whittemore. Derek stops short. This is the conversation he was dreading most of all, because this is the one person he’s not really sure he’s ready to forgive. 

Jackson, unpredictably, makes the first move. “I’m glad you’re back,” he tells Derek, evidently sincerely. “It wouldn’t have been any fun without a competitor for valedictorian.” 

“Yeah.” Derek doesn’t smile. “Sucks for you.” 

Jackson takes the hint. “You don’t have to forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me, if I was you. I did the worst fucking thing in the world.” 

Derek inclines his head every-so-slightly. 

“Trust me, Stilinski already laid into me over it. I get it. If you had…you know, if what you did, um, worked, I would never have forgiven myself. I still probably won’t.” Jackson stares over Derek’s shoulder, face flushing red. “I don’t want to be that guy,” he says. “Sometimes I’m a real asshole, but I swear I don’t want to be. I’ll try to be the nicer guy. I just wanted you to know.” 

Derek sighs. His anger towards Jackson has been so easy, a nice little coal he keeps warming in his chest. But he’s already heard about the way Jackson has been defending him. He punched out Matt Daehler, after all, which Derek considers a damn public service. 

A clean slate all around. That’s what Derek needs. 

“You’re seventeen, Jackson,” Derek says. “Teenagers fuck up. I’ve done some really cruel things recently too, and people have forgiven me.” He shakes out his hand formally. “So I forgive you.” 

Jackson takes his hand hesitantly. “You’re sure?” 

“We’re not about to be best friends or anything. And if you ever call me or Stiles a faggot again, we’ll be having a different conversation.” Derek gives Jackson a dangerous smile. “And I’m going to fucking _destroy_ you in class rank.” 

Jackson grins. “That’s fair.” 

They shake. “Oh, and Jackson?” Derek tries to make his face as disapproving as possible. “Lay off Lydia. She’s not interested.” 

“I’ve moved on,” Jackson says. “I’m going to ask out Cora right now.” He cackles when Derek’s eyes bug out of his head. “Kidding.” 

“Asshole,” Derek grumbles. 

“Whatever, Hale.” Jackson walks past him. “We’ll see who’s crying at graduation.” 

Derek shakes his head and continues walking. At his door he knocks “Shave and a Haircut” before entering out of habit, though he doesn’t wait for Stiles’s all-clear. 

He realizes his mistake as soon as he walks through the door to see Stiles performing a glorious masturbation performance on Derek’s bed, naked right down to his swollen red dick. 

Derek slams the door so fast the lamps on the desk shake. 

“Oh, hi,” Stiles says, squeezing the head of his cock past his fingers. “You’re back.” 

“Stiles.” Derek tries to breathe. “Oh my God.” 

“Just got off the phone with my dad. Your little trick worked. We’re officially clear to room together for the rest of the year.” Stiles grins at him. “So I thought we’d really rub it in their faces by having some good old fashioned gay sex here in their precious dorms.” 

Derek can only stare. 

“I mean, if you’re not up to it I can always just take care of myself here. If I’m thinking about you while I jerk off I think it still counts…” 

“You’re thinking about me?” Derek fumbles with the buttons of his jeans, not taking his eyes off of his boyfriend. 

“Uh-huh.” Stiles’s voice goes breathy. “I’m thinking about how much I want you to be riding me right now. How much I want to feel the head of your cock deep inside of me. God, I’m so fucking needy for your cock I can feel myself submitting just to my fantasy of you.” He throws back his head, groaning. “I want you to hold me down and make me count how many time you thrust inside of me before you let me come…” 

Derek’s cock throbs painfully. He glances at the door. There’s nothing in the crack; sound could easily slip through… 

Fuck it. 

If someone hears, then they hear. He’d like to see Father Jeff try and discipline them for this. 

He finds the lube under his bed and thinks back to all the porn he watched, just for Stiles, so he could give Stiles exactly what he wanted. “I don’t suppose you’ve been stretching yourself open for me while you waited?” 

Stiles shakes his head. 

“Of course not, greedy boy, just thinking about yourself.” Derek sighs in mock disappointment. “Don’t you think your cock has gotten enough attention?” 

Stiles whines as Derek pulls his hands away, but his eyes fly open with excitement when Derek places his hands up towards the headboard. “Are you gonna tie my hands up?” 

“No, not tonight. I’m going to trust you to be a _very good boy_ and keep your hands right where they are.” Derek gently corrects Stiles’s body so he’s lying flat and straight. “There,” he says before he climbs on the bed, leans down and kisses the arch of Stiles’s foot. 

Stiles jerks slightly. “Uh, dude, I know it’s been awhile, but you’re not even close.” 

“Shh.” Derek repeats on his other foot before kissing the spot on Stiles’s ankle with the least hair. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m worshipping you.” Derek travels up Stiles’s leg with his lips. 

“That’s— _oh_!” Stiles moans sweetly when Derek reaches his inner thigh and sucks slightly at the skin. “Yeah, okay. Carry on.” 

Derek keeps kissing Stiles and nosing at his skin. When he reaches the cock he hesitate for a second just to raise the tension before he lays just the softest, gentlest kiss he can on the head. Stiles whimpers for more but Derek’s already moving on up his stomach. 

Stiles giggles as Derek’s lips brush over him. “This is my body, which is given for you,” he intones. 

“Every bad joke delays you coming five seconds.” 

“I hate that rule.” 

“Tough, baby.” Derek sucks each nipple until they’re hard little pebbles. He spends a good two minutes on Stiles’s neck, and now he leaves bright red hickeys. Everyone is going to know. This is Derek’s boy and there’s nothing they can do to change that. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he purrs to Stiles before he finally captures his lips. They kiss hard and sloppy and Derek ruts against Stiles, his dick leaving a messy trail of precum on Stiles’s stomach. 

“I wanna…” 

“Yeah, baby? What do you want?” 

“Want you inside me.” 

“Yeah, baby, yeah, turn over, I worshipped every part of you except there, didn’t I?” Derek helps Stiles flip over. “Hold still,” he orders before he leans down and starts eating Stiles out. Stiles is so sensitive to Derek’s tongue there that he moans and jerks all the way through, and then he’s whining for Derek to bring his tongue back after he leans back to grab the lube. 

“You can’t have me everywhere,” Derek scolds lightly as he slicks up his fingers. “Make up your mind. My cock or my tongue inside of you?” 

Stiles moans. “Both, God. No, okay. Cock, please, hurry.” 

“Fingers first.” Derek stretches him out as quickly as he can, all the while murmuring to Stiles that it feel so good and he’s missed this so much and soon, very soon, it’ll be his cock stretching that pretty little hole open. 

Stiles moans for Jesus when Derek finally slides inside of him and Derek has to remind himself not to clamp his hand over Stiles’s mouth. “Yeah, that’s it,” he says instead. “Be as loud as you fucking want, baby.” He thrusts hard into Stiles on a grunt and picks up a punishing pace, until his balls are slapping against the meat of his boyfriend’s ass. “I want to hear it, all of it, how much you want this, how much you need me, only me, yeah, Stiles, fuck, baby, fuck _I love you Stiles, I love you_.” 

He’s still riding his orgasm as he grabs Stiles’s cock and jerks him until Stiles is coming with an obscenely loud moan. 

They end up showering off together in the shower room. No one comes in and sees. 

But, honestly, they wouldn’t have given if a fuck if someone had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIDENOTE: While I was typing this chapter I accidently misspelled “orgasm” as “rorgasm” and it made me laugh really hard and I texted my best friend, “What kind of orgasm does a tiger have? A roargasm!” and she texted back, “oh honey no.” But I’m pretty sure that’s an A plus joke, so pls feel free to steal.
> 
> The statement released by St. Cecelia's is based on the statement issued last week by by Erskine College. Link to the statement is here: http://news.erskine.edu/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/Statement-on-Human-Sexuality-2015.pdf and it's contextualized here: http://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/05/sports/ncaabasketball/erskine-colleges-sexuality-statement-jolts-its-openly-gay-athletes.html
> 
>  
> 
> On Sunday we'll finish up this bad boy with an epilogue, so I'll see y'all then!


	18. Here In a World Where There's Safety In Falsehood, I Have Discovered the One Thing That's Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lines lovingly lifted from _The Laramie Project_ , some valedictorian drama that actually happened to my little sister (albeit under different circumstances), a teensy bit of smut, and the boys say goodbye.

**June**

“Great news, babe!” Derek swings the door shut and spontaneously grabs Stiles up in a twirling hug. “Your boyfriend just passed his crazy-person class!” 

Stiles rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitch up. “I told you not to call it that. _Begged_ you, in fact.” 

“Frankly, I did more than pass it. I aced it.” Derek beams with pride and wishes he’d asked his counselor for a diploma or something he could stick up on the wall. “Ms. Spellman told me that she thinks I might be the most well-adjusted eighteen-year-old she’s ever met.” 

“You even overachieve at mental health.” Stiles kisses him on the cheek. “Congrats, my love. You’ve come a long way.” 

“This Saturday it’ll be six months exactly since I was outed.” Derek shrugs. “Not the greatest memory or anything, but it got me here in the long run. Did your last final go okay?” 

“Yeah.” Stiles takes a deep breath. “And that was the last final for any of the seniors, so it won’t be too long now before they call class rank. How do you feel?” 

“Positive.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. And if it’s not me, it’s not me.” Derek smiles, though he’s pretty sure that if his phone doesn’t ring with the announcement that he’s valedictorian he’s going to lose his mind. 

“Jackson looked pretty stressed out this morning, you know. I heard his econ final was a total bitch…” 

Derek snorts and hangs up his backpack. “Are you going to be this over-competitive about our kids one day?” 

“Who, me? You’re totally gonna be the Tiger Mom.” 

Derek smacks his ass reprovingly. “You can’t say ‘Tiger Mom,’ Stiles.” 

“Why? Is that offensive?” 

“Oh, probably. And I’m still pissed at China.” 

“ _That’s_ offensive. Probably.” 

They’d spent long hours last month talking about how they wanted to start a family one day and, after watching a documentary on China’s “One Child” policy, they agreed that they wanted to try and adopt a little Chinese girl. Unfortunately, Derek learned quickly that China, as well as many other countries, forbids same-sex adoption. 

Maybe things will be different in ten years. Or maybe not. It’s out of their control, and reminding themselves of that is what helps them get through the hard times. 

Stiles tries to smack Derek’s ass back in retaliation, but Derek grabs his hands, pulls him in for a kiss, and then smacks his ass again. “Jerk,” Stiles laughs. “Do you want to get lunch or do you want to sit silently staring at your phone as the tension inexorably mounts?” 

“I kind of want to do the second one.” 

“Yeah, me too. Can we both scream like little girls when it finally rings and shatters the silence, and then you pick it up all, _h-hello?_ but it’s just your dad calling to see if you heard yet, and we’re all disappointed but then right as you’re saying, _no, dad, I haven’t heard from him_ there’s a beep and you’re like, _dad, I’m getting another call_ and you click over to the other line and it’s Father Jeff?” 

“Yes,” Derek says, straight-faced. “Just for you, Stiles, I will make sure that all of that happens.” 

Stiles grins. “You’re the best.” 

The put Derek’s phone on his desk, clicking the ringer up all the way, and turn their chairs around so they can hang onto the backs while facing the phone. 

A minute passes. 

“This is boring,” Stiles mutters. 

“Shh. You’re disrupting the tension build.” 

“Look how nice it is outside. Don’t you kind of want to go get grilled cheese and then sit on the quad watching the junior douchebags play Frisbee?” 

That actually does sound pretty great. 

“Any minute now,” Derek says. “I can feel it.” 

They wait for another minute. 

“I kind of have to pee,” Stiles says. 

Derek cuts his eyes at his boyfriend just as the phone rings. Derek snatches it up. 

“It’s the office,” Derek says. 

“Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” Stiles bounces in his chair. “Answer it!” 

Derek accepts the call. “Hello?” 

“Derek!” Derek can feel his shoulders relax in relief when he hears Father Jeff’s voice. “I’m sorry to bother you. Do you remember last week when I told you and Jackson to both write a valedictory address, since the results would be coming in so close to the ceremony?” 

“Yes.” Derek shrugs at Stiles, who’s watching intently. 

“Did you finish yours?” 

“Yes, Father.” 

“Can you please email it to me now? I’m in my office.” 

“I— sure. Does that mean…is it me?” 

Father Jeff pauses. “They’re still calculating,” he says, but something is off in his voice. 

“Um, okay.” Derek boots up his laptop and attaches the file as quickly as he can. “I just sent it.” 

“Great, thanks. You’ll be hearing from me again soon.” 

Derek hangs up. “That was weird,” he says to Stiles. 

“What did he say?” 

“They haven’t figured it out yet, but he needed to see my speech.” 

Stiles frowns. “Did he say if he’s asking for Jackson’s speech, too?” 

“He didn’t say, but he has to, right? Why not just tell me if it’s me? And why look at my speech if they haven’t figured it out yet?” 

“I have no idea.” 

They sit, stumped, still looking at the phone as if it might have the answers. 

“Oh, shit,” Stiles says. 

“What?” 

“Your speech, Der. Your fucking speech.” Stiles shakes his head in despair. “They _did_ already calculate, and it’s you. But the board needs to make sure your speech doesn’t say anything that might embarrass them. They’re worried you’re going to launch into some big spiel about tolerance or whatever.” 

Derek’s shoulders deflate. Of course that’s it. That has to be it. He honestly should have anticipated this, given the way the board has been hounding them for the past five months. “You’re right.” 

“There’s nothing in there that they could flag, is there?” 

“Are you kidding? You know it backwards and forwards.” He’s given the speech to Stiles five times already. “But who knows what they consider to be dangerous.” Nobody can forget when the board shut down the school’s movie club after they learned funds had gone to rent _Midnight Cowboy_ , which, according to the board’s letter, featured “morally inexcusable characters and situations.” 

It had all paled, of course, to the battle that was waged over the drama department when the board refused to allow _The Laramie Project_ , the play about the murder of Mathew Shepard, to be performed. Sister Marin had led a student protest at the board meeting, which Derek and Stiles both attended. It had been a long, dirty fight. Funding was cut and then restored; Sister Marin was fired and then abruptly rehired just as the students started planning a sit-in. The board hadn’t caved on their choice of plays. In the end, they’d raised enough money for the rights themselves and staged the show in the old barn. Instead of charging a set price for tickets they asked for love donations, and they raised several thousand dollars. 

Both Derek and Stiles had taken part. _The Laramie Project_ featured a cast of characters who rotated in and out of different roles. The most meaningful for Stiles was playing Rulon Stacey, the doctor who treated Matthew Shepard and made the statement to the press after he had died. For as long as Derek lived he would never forget standing in a completely silent barn, listening to Stiles quietly reciting the words as they had been spoken by the actual man many years before: 

_“At twelve-fifty-three Mathew Shepard died. His family was at his bedside. The family did release the following statement: Matthew’s mother said, go home, give your kids a hug, and don’t let a day go by without telling them that you love them. And, I don’t know how I let it happen; I lost in on national television. While I was out there reading that statement I thought about my own four daughters, and, go home, hug your kids, and, oh, she doesn’t have her kid anymore, and I started crying. Um, we started to get people sending us emails and letters. This one guy wrote me and said, ‘Do you cry like a baby on TV for all your patients, or just the faggots?’”_ Stiles had paused and let those words sink in before continuing softly: 

_“I guess I didn’t understand the magnitude with which some people hate.”_

Later in the show Derek stood up on the makeshift stage alone and delivered the monologue given by Matthew Shepard’s father in court to his killers, while the audience sobbed along with him: 

_“My son Matthew did not look like a winner. He was rather uncoordinated and wore braces from the age of thirteen until the day he died. However, in his all too brief life he proved that he was a winner. On October 6, 1998 my son tried to show the world that he could win again. On October 12, 1998, my first born son and my hero, lost. On October 12, 1998 my first born son and my hero died, fifty days before his twenty-second birthday. I keep wondering the same thing that I did when I first saw him in the hospital. What would he have become? How could he have changed his piece of the world to make it better? Matt officially died in a hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado. He actually died on the outskirts of Laramie, tied to a fence. You, Mr. McKinney, with your friend, Mr. Henderson, left him out there by himself, but he wasn't alone. There were his lifelong friends with him, friends that he had grown up with. You're probably wondering who these friends were. First he had the beautiful night sky, and the same stars and moon that we used to see through a telescope. Then he had the daylight and the sun to shine on him. And through it all he was breathing in the scent of pine trees from the snowy range. He heard the wind, the ever present Wyoming wind, for the last time. He had one more friend with him. He had God. And I feel better knowing he wasn't alone._

 _“Matt's beating, hospitalization and funeral focused worldwide attention on hate. Good is coming out of evil. People have said enough is enough. I miss my son, but I am proud to be able to say that he is my son.”_

As the audience— including Chris and Victoria, both crying— rose to give a standing ovation, Derek had sucked in a deep breath of warm spring air, and he had been so incredibly thankful to still be alive. 

A photograph of him performing that monologue had been on the front page of every major newspaper the very next day. If he didn’t already have a target on his back from the school board, he had one then. Ever since they’d been scrutinizing his every move, just waiting to take him down. It’s what’s kept him from punching out Matt Daehler, and it’s the reason why he and Stiles skipped prom after they were expressly forbid from attending together, even though Derek still won Prom King in absentia. 

Of course they want to keep him from standing up and giving his speech. Of course they want to silence him for these last few hours he’s under their control. 

“What do we do?” Stiles asks. “If Father Jeff calls and says that you’re second-place, can we, like, demand a recount?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” 

“We should just go down there right now. Tell Father Jeff he can’t pull this crap the day before graduation.” 

“You know it’s not Father Jeff making this decision. He’s a puppet.” Derek tries to imagine what Ms. Spellman would tell him to do in this situation. _Take a deep breath. Remember that the actions of others do not affect your self-worth. Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent._

Okay, the last one he stole from _The Princess Diaries._ But it still helped. 

There’s nothing he can do right now, while the board debates on whether or not to let him give his speech. Sure, he could sit here in the room and stew over the unfairness of the world. But it’s a beautiful day, finals are over, he’s with his boyfriend, and he’s starving. They might take his speech, but they’re not going to take this day from him. 

“Let’s go get lunch,” he suggests. 

“No, Derek. I want to be outraged!” 

“We’ll be outraged if they actually keep me from giving my speech. For right now we’re going to stay cool.” Derek puts both hands on Stiles’s shoulders. “Babe, trust me. I’m not going to let them keep me from getting up there. But in twenty-four hours, we’re _done_. They have no more control over us. No more morning Mass with people glaring at us all throughout. We’ll never have to see Matt Daehler again. So _think positive_.” 

Stiles looks unconvinced. 

“And, hey.” Derek bumps his nose against his boyfriend’s. “In a week, where are we going to be?” 

Stiles cracks a smile. “Martha’s Vineyard.” 

“That’s right. Just you and me for two whole weeks. Alone.” Derek lands a kiss on the side of Stiles’s mouth. “And we’re going to do everything the board is most horrified by. They’re going to be having phantom pains in their asses from a thousand miles away, and they’ll have no idea why.” 

Stiles cracks up. “That’s disgusting.” 

“Then why are you getting hard right now?” 

“Because you’re whispering in my ear and you know what that does to me.” 

“Yeah, I do.” Derek pats Stiles’s crotch, making him yelp. “But you’re going to have to keep it tucked away, because we’re getting lunch.” 

Stiles grumbles a little, but he stands up and grabs his bag. “Grilled cheese?” 

“Grilled cheese.” Derek slaps his hand down on top of Stiles’s and they leave the room together. 

# 

They meet up with the entire crew outside on the quad. Scott and Allison are disgustingly feeding each other grapes while Erica and Boyd are engaging in some PDA for the ages, and Derek gives Cora and Isaac a warning glare as soon as they sit down so they won’t try something as equally lovey-dovey. 

Stiles bites into his sandwich and closes his eyes contentedly. “I’m going to miss this,” he says thickly. 

“Don’t get sappy,” Scott says. “We’ll still be doing practically the same thing a year from now.” 

Stiles grins. He’s always happy when he thinks of how well everyone’s college plans worked out. Both he and Derek were accepted to Duke University, and Scott, Boyd, and Erica enrolled in UNC only a few miles away. It’s a fantastic school, and it isn’t as far away from home as Notre Dame was. It’s going to be perfect. 

“Hey, guys!” Lydia scrambles to sit down next to them, balancing her lunch on her lap. “Did you hear?” 

Stiles claps his hands. “You won?” 

“Yeah!” Lydia beams as all her friends burst into applause. “Thanks! God, I’m so excited for this summer now. I have so many things to start planning!” Lydia’s decision to run for student council president had surprised everyone, but it was clear that she actually had a lot of good idea on how to improve the school. Stiles almost wishes he was sticking around to see what changes she makes. 

“Congrats, Lyd,” he tells her. They’ve become pretty good friends. They have a lot in common, after all, and Stiles tries not to let that divide them. It’s a little awkward sometimes, but there’s no point in holding onto old grudges. 

“Hey, babe,” Derek says. “Eyelash.” 

“Where?” 

“Here.” Derek leans forward and brushes the eyelash off of Stiles’s cheek with his thumb. It’s a simple, intimate gesture, and Stiles’s heart still flutters whenever he thinks of how far they’ve come just to be able to do this. “There you go.” 

There’s an annoyed snort from behind them. “I just don’t get why they have to ruin such a nice day,” Matt Daehler says, loudly enough to make it obvious that he wanted to be overheard. Derek twitches slightly— he still has some issues ignoring blatant homophobia— and Stiles grabs his hand to ground him. The board would love it if Derek was provoked into a fight and was banned from attending graduation. 

“So,” Cora says loudly, “any valedictorian news yet?” 

“I mean, do whatever in your bedroom, I don’t have to see that…but don’t rub it in our faces, you know?” Matt continues, his buddies all grumbling their agreement. 

Stiles twists around. “Why don’t you get a life?” 

“Why don’t you get a _girlfriend_?” 

Derek turns and smiles with false pleasantness at Matt. “Wait, I didn’t hear that. Ask it again?” 

Matt scoffs, but, as always, he doesn’t dare challenge Derek. “Fags,” he sneers under his breath. It’s a weak final shot, a word that’s lost just about all of his power by now, and Stiles simply retaliates by holding up his middle finger. 

“First official act as Madame President,” Lydia says. “Establishing a school chapter of the GSA. This homophobic douchebaggery isn’t going to fly here anymore.” 

Cora groans. “You’re absolutely going to be overthrown by the student body a week into the semester.” 

“Don’t sass your new president.” 

“You’re not _my_ president, bitch. I voted for Kali.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes. Some things never change. He does notice that the girls grin at each other, though, even as Lydia flips Cora off. Not for the first time, he wonders why they’ve never requested a room change assignment if they profess to hate each other so much. He’s tried to talk to Derek about it, but Derek just always shrugs and says he doesn’t understand women. 

Jackson sinks down next to them, empty handed. “Not eating?” Cora asks. 

“I’m too nervous to hear from Father Jeff.” Jackson looks at Derek. “No word?” 

“No.” 

“Well, may the best man win, and all that.” 

“Yes, Jackson. That’s exactly how every competition works.” 

“Douche,” Jackson, Stiles, Lydia, and Isaac all say in unison. 

They keep talking and laughing, aware that this is probably the last time they’ll all eat lunch together as a group. Stiles leans against Derek, letting the sun beat him into a half-sleep, when a ringing phone suddenly shuts everyone up. 

“Oh, shit,” Lydia says. “Whose is it?” 

Stiles catches his breath. _Please, please, please. He deserves this..._

“It’s mine,” Jackson says. 

Only Stiles can see the sudden, deep disappointment in Derek’s eyes as Jackson answers his phone. 

“Hello?” Jackson’s face falls. “Oh, dad. No, I haven’t heard yet—” 

Derek’s phone rings and Allison actually gasps, as though she can’t handle the drama. “Hello?” He looks at Stiles and grins. “Hi, Father Jeff. Yes…okay, yes. Thank you. I…okay, yeah. Okay. I can do that. Okay. Thank you.” He hangs up, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Well?” Scott says. 

Derek tries to look modest, but his eyes are shining. “It’s me.” 

Everyone cheers, glancing quickly at Jackson to see if he’s upset. Jackson only smiles and sticks out his hand. 

“Congratulations,” he says. “The best man won.” 

“I’m just sorry it couldn’t be both of us,” Derek says, affording to be gracious now that it’s over. Only Stiles knows how much Derek wanted this; how, after what happened with Father Jeff this morning, it’s a victory of more than one type. 

He’s managed to show the school that he’s still Derek Hale. Leader in class rank. Top athlete. Surprise star of the drama program. Alpha male. And, yes, gay. He’s a damn living legend. 

“They want me to take out a part of my speech,” Derek says to Stiles once everyone has gone back to their conversations. 

“Wait, really? What part?” 

“The ending. Where I talk about being guided by love and passion.” Derek rolls his eyes. “They must have found it too _suggestive_.” 

“That’s idiotic.” 

“Yep.” 

“Hey,” Stiles says. “It’s not like they can stop you once you’re already up there.” 

Derek narrows his eyes at Stiles. “You’re a little rabble-rouser, do you know that?” 

“Aww.” Stiles nestles up against his boyfriend. “I love it when you talk grandfather to me.” 

Scott clears his throat loudly. “Hey, lovebirds. We were just saying that since the election and class rank drama and all are done with, we can finally relax before tomorrow.” 

“I’ve got beer,” Boyd says. 

“And I’ve got pot!” Erica grins at her friends. She’s not back to dealing, but it was too hard to just cut herself off completely. 

“Nobody will be in the old barn, and you know the teachers don’t give a shit now that finals are over with.” Scott looks around to get everyone’s approval. “Let’s say we take two hours to pack up our rooms? Then we’ll say goodbye to this place in style.” 

They all cheer in one voice and rise together. 

# 

Later that night Stiles and Derek stumble into their dorm. “Oh, my God,” Derek moans. “Why did we stay out there so long? I’m going to be hungover for my speech tomorrow.” He looks at Stiles and sees his boyfriend staring at the blank walls and suitcases standing by the foot of the bed. “What’s wrong?” 

Stiles swallows and looks at Derek. “I guess I just now realized that this will be our last night in this room.” 

“Oh… _oh_.” Derek looks around. This is where it all happened. Where they met. Where the first kissed and made love. Where they grieved. Where they found peace. 

It’s been home for so long, and for a minute Derek actually gets choked up at the thought of leaving it behind. 

Then he looks at Stiles. Everything good that happened here happened because of this boy. He’d made it a sanctuary, and refused to let it be a prison. It was never the walls that made it a home. It was Stiles. 

And Stiles isn’t staying here. Stiles will be going with Derek. Derek will never lose his home again. 

Derek wraps his arms around his boyfriend and kisses his cheek. “Then I guess we’d better say a proper goodbye.” 

Stiles turns and they kiss for real. Derek flashes back to sophomore year, when he confronted his roommate about the shirt he found under Stiles’s pillow. 

_What if I can’t forget at night? When I don’t have anything of yours to hold?_

 _You could hold me._

 _

No. I’ll do more than that.

_

He guides Stiles to the bed and pulls off his shirt. Stiles’s hand comes down to take off his belt and his hands eagerly dip into Derek’s boxers, so he can pull free his dick. He bends down and sucks the head into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks and making Derek arch. “You pick,” Stiles says when he pulls away. “Anyway you want it.” 

_How do you want it?_

 _I want to be inside you._

“Let’s just make it simple tonight.” Derek pulls Stiles over so he can kiss the back of his neck. “I want to come inside you.” 

Stiles grins. His lips are spit-slick, his eyes dark with lust. “Yes, please.” 

“But when we’re on the vineyard…you better believe I’m pulling out the dildos and the blindfolds. And baby, you’re gonna beg for it.” 

“Fuck yeah I am.” 

“But tonight…” Derek uses three fingers to prepare Stiles. Someday he’ll use his whole damn fist. Or maybe not. Even Stiles has limits. “I’m just going to go slow, and listen to all your beautiful, needy little sounds.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles gasps, “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” 

_Yeah, fuck, come inside me, so it hurts, make me yours…_

“C’mon, baby,” Stiles whimpers. “My dick _hurts_ it’s so hard.” 

“Good boys don’t whine.” 

“I’ll be good,” Stiles practically sings. “I wanna get fucked by the valedictorian.” 

“I heard you over-emphasize the _dick_ in that.” Derek takes his fingers away. “Boner killer.” 

“ _I still feel your boner._ Put in in me before I explode.” 

Derek presses one more kiss to the back of Stiles’s neck. “God, I love you,” he whispers before he pushes into his boyfriend. 

_I love you._

He can’t believe there was ever a time he was afraid to say it. 

“Oh, God,” Stiles moans as Derek thrusts in and out. “Oh, Derek, yes. Oh— _oh_." Derek comes inside his boyfriend with a grunt. As Stiles pants Derek lifts Stiles’s hips and bends down to finish Stiles with his mouth. It’s pretty rare, for them; Stiles is the one with the talented mouth in this pairing. Still, it’s their last night at St. Cecilia’s. Might as well go all the way. 

They sleep as they always do: curled up in an embrace so the person on the outside won’t fall out. Soon they’ll have a bed big enough that it won’t be a problem, but something tells Derek this is one habit that will die hard. 

“Someday I’m going to marry you,” he tells Stiles. 

Stiles gave a half-asleep little _hnngh_. 

“There’s no getting rid of me now, baby. I’m never going to let you go.” 

Derek closes his eyes. Just before he drifts off he hears a whispers, maybe from Stiles or maybe just from his memory: 

_You don’t have to hold me to make me stay._

# 

The graduates of St. Cecelia’s sit primly in rows. Nearly all of them are hungover to some degree, and three of them have lost their caps in the two weeks they’ve had their gowns. Catholic school graduation is a fairly tedious affair, what with the massive number of prayers that need to be said, and Derek gets enthusiastic applause when he’s announced as valedictorian just because the audience is relieved he won’t be leading another damn homily. 

Derek takes the stage, shaking Father Jeff’s hand warmly. He’ll miss the priest, even after everything. The man did a lot for him in the past five years, and Derek is hopeful that someday his collar won’t imprison him anymore. Carefully Derek arranges his notecards on the podium and looks out at the audience. Cora and Allison are sitting with Chris and Victoria. Stiles’s father is sitting with Scott’s mom; Derek used to sit at his desk for endless hours while Scott and Stiles discussed a battle plan to hook their single parents up, and it looks like they might be succeeding. As Derek opens his mouth to begin, he locks eyes with Stiles, who flashes him a thumbs up and mouths _I love you._ Or maybe it’s _Tie your shoe._ Derek isn’t a great lip reader. 

He clears his throat. “Today, I am going to begin with a speechmaking cliché. Webster’s Dictionary defines promise as ‘a declaration that something will or will not be done.’” Derek smiles out at the crowd. “Not a very strong start to a speech, I’m sure you’re thinking. But I think that _promise_ is the most important word in the English language. We use it to establish trust. To give ourselves hope. And yet we forget that basic definition every day: that something will, or will not, be done. 

“Today we are filled with promise. Each and every graduate here is about to embark on some sort of journey. And it’s easy to be afraid of that journey, because we don’t know what it holds. But we carry with us the promise of St. Cecelia’s. We will achieve. We will strive towards greatness. And we will not be afraid to follow our dreams, because we know they _will_ be done.” 

Derek continues his speech. In retrospect, he’s incredibly glad he started doing theater, because the Derek Hale of last year would have been petrified speaking for this long in front of such a huge crowd. 

When he reaches the end he hesitates. He quickly wrote up a new ending this morning, but he knows it’s weak. He liked his old ending. Stiles had helped him write it. 

Screw it. They can’t punish him now. Once he has that diploma in hand, he’s free. 

He winks at Stiles and flips his paper over. 

“Today when we leave St. Cecelia’s, we go with God. But what I have learned about God is that he is often quiet. Sometimes that can seem to make things harder. But, in retrospect, I believe it is a gift. Because when God is quiet, he is allowing us to choose our own way. God gave us free will for a reason. And if your prayers seem to be going unanswered, maybe its just that God has already _given_ you the answer. He gave it to you when he gave you the ability to love. 

“As one of our most beloved teachers here always says, after all, God is love. So choose love, when you cannot hear the voice of God. And, I promise, God will always be with you.” 

“Derek Hale!” Jeff calls, rising to his feet. “St. Cecelia’s graduating valedictorian, everyone!” 

Derek returns to his seat amid the audience’s applause. He feels a little twinge of sadness. He’s carved out such a niche for himself here, and now he’ll have to go somewhere new, where it will be more difficult to excel. It might be a while before people are applauding just for him again. 

Something hits the top of his head and a balled up piece of paper falls into his lap. He unrolls it to read the scrawled message: 

_So fucking proud of you._

 _I love you._

 _

I’m totally going to blow you tonight.

_

Derek smiles. Really, he guesses he doesn’t need the applause of an entire audience. 

The band starts playing and the students rise to receive their diplomas. Vernan Boyd. Derek Hale. Isaac Lahey— Derek hears Cora give a high-pitched screech for him, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. Scott McCall. Erica Reyes. Stiles Stilinski. 

The last student— Jackson Whittemore— crosses the stage and Derek catches his breath. That’s it. They’re officially alumni of St. Cecelia’s Catholic School. 

As salutation Jackson gives the closing address, and, finally, Father Jeff bids them all goodbye. Derek marches out with everyone else and, once he’s out of the auditorium, he finds Stiles and plants a kiss on him. They were given two warnings for PDA in this very hallway. Now they can’t be stopped. 

“Your speech was amazing,” Stiles shouts to him. 

“I had a good co-writer!” Derek kisses Stiles again. Matt Daehler, crossing back into the auditorium to find his parents, stops and wrinkles his nose. “Hey Matt!” Derek yells. He raises his middle finger. “Fuck you!” 

Stiles laughs in delight and grabs Derek’s hand. They’ve already arranged to meet their families outside, away from the crush of people. It takes a while to make their way to the door, as people keep stopping them to congratulate Derek on his speech. 

The Sherriff and the Argent-Hale clan are grouped together by the St. Cecelia entranceway, waving at their kids. Derek allows himself to be mobbed by his family— he even counts the Sherriff now— and smiles for Victoria’s camera. “Your mom would be so proud of you,” Chris says, and the Sherriff echoes the sentiment to Stiles. 

“Let’s get out of here,” the Sherriff finally suggests. “I think the graduates deserve a good steak dinner, don’t you?” 

Stiles points warningly at his father. “You’re having veggies, and no cream soups.” 

“Damn it,” John mutters. 

“I’m paying. Let’s get the lead out.” Chris gives Derek one last hug. “Proud of you, son.” 

“Thanks, Dad.” 

“Wait.” Stiles nudges Derek. “I think we’re forgetting something. On three?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Derek reaches up to his cap. “Ready, babe? One…two…three!” 

They throw their caps into the air in unison and shade their eyes to watch them soar. As Derek and Stiles squint into the sun, the caps look like two glowing circles, perfect halos against a blue and brilliant sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And…that’s all she wrote.
> 
> I can’t tell you how much fun I’ve had writing this and reading your feedback. As I mentioned in my starter notes, I mainly did this project because I felt like my current choice of study was completely killing any bit of creativity in me, and this more than rekindled it...and it's all thanks to you guys, because I would have just quit if I thought nobody was enjoying it.
> 
>  
> 
> Now I’ve got like a thousand stories on here to catch up on reading. See you around the forum! And maybe I’ll see you back here if I ever write that Sterek/Heathers mashup I keep thinking about…
> 
>  
> 
> Now go listen to Bare, you guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter will pick up senior year and hopefully will go up later this week!


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